Of Angels and Demons
by oooOutisooo
Summary: Alfred, like many other ten-year-olds, doesn't often think about the consequences of his actions. Matthew, his Shoulder Angel, finds managing him near impossible, especially when competing with Gilbert, his Shoulder Demon. But that's fine, because when Alfred runs away from home, the get some help, in the form of Arthur, the guilt-ridden "Hand of Heaven," and Francis, "Fist of Hell
1. Prologue

**Hey peoples, guess what! I've written a prologue! And, in further news, I'm also thinking of publishing this story on Wattpad. Actually, it's almost definite that I'm going to, as I've just created an account (It's TormaDevan.) I'm also going to be going back through my previous chapters and doing some editing, and maybe adding a bit more information here and there, so feel free to point out any literary mistakes! I don't mind Grammar Nazi's, so don't be shy! **

Prologue

There are universes beyond our own. However, even though we share the same space as they do, we can never touch.

Some among us posses a clarity needed to peer into these other worlds, to look in and catch a snapshot of what these places are like, of the stories that are present there. Some can _see_ into these worlds clearly, and, searching for and finding those of us in our own universe who are the parallels of those present in the story they wish to share, they create a movie, or a show, to share the experience of viewing another world. If they can't do this through live action, or if they simply don't want to, they may do this through artwork, graphic novels, or animation.

Some see literally a single picture, and a realm of possibility in the story behind it. These are more traditional artists. Others can perceive the very thoughts of those beyond our realm. These are those involved in the makings of films, shows, and graphic novels. In anime, manga, comics, and cartoons.

Then there are those who do not _see_, but _feel_. Thier realm is words, not pictures. They _invented_ words, to try and describe the other worlds. They are the writers. The poets, and the scriptwriters. The authors of novels.

Some, who find words fail them in describing what they sense, turn instead to music, in an attempt to share these feelings more clearly. They are musicians. Composers, singers, and bands.

Each of these tasks is a hard one. Some are capable of performing more than one, but many must search for another who can see into the world or worlds they perceive, to help carry the load.

But they are all driven to share what they know. To share the worlds they can see or feel so clearly, even if they do not realize what it is. Once they do, they open a window for others to look into these worlds. And for some, who have that same clarity, to look beyond the world presented, into other, branching worlds.

That clarity is imagination.

This story, as all stories do, takes place in one of these worlds.

First, you must look to a window. In this instance, I speak of Hetalia.

Look through the window.

You see countries personified, and their lives as such.

Find a branch of alternate universes, where these characters are no longer countries, but human.

Scroll through. Find the universes such as these which contain supernatural or spiritual elements.

Continue on through to the section labeled 'Angels, Demons, Ghosts, and other Post-Life Creatures'.

There are still too many to simply look through them. Lets narrow the category further. To universes where encounters with such creatures are an accepted and natural piece of everyday life.

This will have to do. Look for a universe that reminds you of the expression, "devil on your shoulder."

Have you found it yet?

Didn't think so. There are endless possibilities.

I'll try to help you a bit more, then.

You're looking for a universe where every single person is born with an "Angel" or "Demon" "on their shoulder." Meaning that each person is assigned two Spirits, one aligned with "Hell," the other with "Heaven," which are held responsible for the moral alignment of that person. And every person, after their death, is required to do one term of service as one of these said "Angels" or "Demons," depending on the success of their moral upbringing to one side or another.

One term means one lifetime. The lifetime of whichever person they are assigned to. After which, they are given a choice. Continue service, and shape the morals of another youth. Retire, and go on to the afterlife, which is simply a place where no one dies or grows any older or is ill, one that can be changed to suit your fancies on a whim, to a small degree. And it doesn't matter whether you worked as a Demon or an Angel. Or stay on Earth as a "ghost." No "heaven," no benefits. You're still stuck on earth, but you are no longer expected to provide anyone with moral guidance, and never will be.

All of which is run by "Headquarters," an organization with three divisions; Heaven, Hell, and Afterlife. Shoulder Angels fall under the jurisdiction of Heaven. Shoulder Demons under Hell's. And the well-being of Spirits after their death is the responsibility of Afterlife. Each of these three divisions is run by an elected representative. No one knows the mastermind behind Headquarters itself, but they do know the spokesperson: Wang Yao, an ancient Spirit claiming to be one of the oldest, and therefore the wisest. He insists that _he_ is the ruler of Headquarters, but everyone knows that he's taking orders from _someone_.

I hope that that has been enough information to lead you here.

There are many stories present in this universe. So many different adventures to choose from and illustrate for you.

But I think I'll show you one that encompases many stories.

One about a ten-year-old boy, Alfred F. Jones, and the chain of events that he triggers when he runs away from home one Saturday night.

***This chapter has been edited. However, I am most definitely **_**not**_** perfect, so please point out any mistakes you may notice.**


	2. Chapter One: Reevaluated

**A-hem. Alright, so... Business first, then the story. Speaking of, my other two are on HIATUS. Not quite giving up, just leaving it be for a while. A long while, but I actually wrote quite a bit of **_**this**_** fanfiction **_**before**_** I began typing it, so this one actually might be updated in a timely manner. At least during the summer.**

**As for my excuses, I do have them, I'm just not going to trouble you with them. **

**Anyway, (this is the last thing before I get to the story, I swear it) if I had something that I actually owned, I probably would be here, gloating, but that's besides the point. The point is that I don't own Hetalia.**

Chapter One; Reevaluated.

"Alfred, I don't think you should…"

"Oh, don't listen to Birdie, Alfred! This is so totally awesome! Almost as awesome as you getting _me_ as your Shoulder Demon!"

"Alfred…"

"Shut up, both of you." Alfred says, as he crouches behind the sunflowers in his neighbor's yard, trying to ignore the two small, winged people sitting on each of his shoulders.

He had to, didn't he? If he was going to survive on his own. He needed food, and money, and those snob neighbors of his wouldn't miss a couple hundred dollars. Hell, he'd seen the mother blow a couple thousand like nothing. And he couldn't go home. Not now.

He wasn't aware of speaking aloud, but he must have, because suddenly, Matthew bursts out, "What are you _thinking_, Alfred! Of course you can go home! Your Mom probably doesn't even know you're gone."

"And if she does?" Alfred's lips barely move as he says this, his eyes still focusing on the mansion in front of him, looking for a weakness in the "security;" locked doors. Gilbert had taught him how to pick locks, but he wasn't very good, and he wasn't very fast. If he had to take the time to sit by the front door and fiddle with it's lock, the likelihood of him getting caught increased exponentially. No, what he needed was…

An open window. Perfect.

"She doesn't." Matthew snorts, making his large, feathery white wings rustle as he adjusts the halo floating an inch above his chin-length blond hair. "Not after the sleeping pills Gilbert had you put in her supper, though why, I don't know. She sleeps like a rock as it is."

Gilbert is lying back on Alfred's shoulder, arms folded behind his head, bat-like wings tucked flat beneath his back, tail moving lazily as he lays there. His dark hood is covering his snow-white hair, his ruby eyes closed as he grins, smug as a Chesire cat. "Simple, Mattie. It was awesome. Like in a movie. Slip drugs into the jailer's food, then make your escape."

Matthew rolls his violet eyes, before refocusing on the boy whose shoulder he was currently riding. "Please, Alfred. Don't do this. There's no reason to. You're not in trouble yet, and your Mom never _really _punishes you anyways. If you turn back now, we can all just pretend this never happened."

Matthew doesn't understand. Part of the reason Alfred is doing this is _because_ his mother never notices him, or hardly ever. She's always in her room, worrying about his father, who'd joined the army for the sake of a family tradition. One his father expected Alfred to carry on, as evident by the bomber jacket his father had sent him for his last birthday. And, when not worrying, his mother's maintaining his father's business, which made parts or something. Alfred wasn't really sure. But apparently it was good money, because they could afford to live in _this_ neighborhood.

"I'm telling you, Alfred, he doesn't know what he's talking about. No one ever has adventures from home. Besides, it's not like you've just decided to live on the streets forever. After we get to Emily's, you can live with her."

"She's Amelia now, she hates that nickname, Gil, and she's barely keeping her apartment as it is; it would be wrong to push another mouth unto her. And even then, she lives in New York City, and Alfred can't drive. It'll take forever to get there."

Amelia is Alfred's sister. When he was little, though, he called her 'Meli, since he couldn't pronounce Amelia, and later he called her Emily, just to annoy her. She's in college now, studying to be an actress, while also getting a general degree, but her dream is, and has always been, to be the first woman to play seriously in Major League Baseball. She's his only sibling, and they're very close, but he knows that what Matthew says is true. On top of school, Amelia has to work in order to earn money for food and rent. Their parents paid half of her tuition, and the other was paid by her partial scholarship, but their mother insists she pay for lodging and basic needs herself, _supposedly_ in order to learn responsibility, something their father approves of, but mostly because their mother doesn't approve of Amelia's career choice. But regardless, he's already decided that he won't go to her for help. Not that Mattie or Gil need to know that.

"That's why we're doing this," Gilbert shrugs, not seeing anything particularly wrong with what they were about to do, though knowing others would view it differently. "So we can get supplies. We're Robin Hood stealing from the rich, and giving the goods to ourselves, the poor. And we'll give whatever's left to _Emily_ as a thank-you gift for bringing us in."

"That's not how it works, Gilbert, and, besides, don't you think you're taking this 'demon' thing a bit—oh." The small, sad sound of understanding is accompanied by an expression of uncertainty. Gilbert's reasons _weren't_ unfounded, but… "You still can't drag Alfred off on some fool quest." He says, firmly, but not unkindly. "Look for him online or something. You know better than I what will happen if we let Alfred go through with this. You're letting personal feelings get in the way of your duty."

"I don't care. I can't help it, Matt, you _know_ he's like a brother to me. It's been ten years, and he didn't just lose me. He lost his mother, too. I need to know how he's doing, and I can't, not if Alfred doesn't do this."

"You _want_ to be reevaluated?!" Matthew is incredulous. He doesn't really understand how someone might _want_ to be regarded as inadequately able to do a job, but, then, Gilbert _has_ been doing this longer than he has.

The Prussian snickers, leaning against Alfred's head. "Spoken like a true new-be. I've been reevaluated before. Nothing happens, except that another assignment is added to your list, and you get stuck with some stuffy, 'experienced' Spirits 'helping' you for the remainder of your current assignment."

"A-hem." Matthew turns, startled, wings almost smacking into the short, blond haired Angel that has appeared behind him. Especially when compared to Matthew, currently dressed in a Canadian sweatshirt adorned with a maple-leaf, the man was ridiculously traditional, wearing a white, one-shoulder, knee-length toga, and no shoes, as well as the plainest golden Halo in Matthew's, admittedly limited, experience (Matthew had a small maple-leaf attached to his). The only apparent personal touch the newcomer seemed to have added was a small, circular locket with a strange engraving.

"Yes, well, I'll be one of the, how was it that you put it? Yes, 'stuffy, 'experienced' Spirits 'helping' you' until your current assignment joins us in the spiritual realm. Speaking of, I assume that this blond fellow here is my new assignment?" says the Shoulder Angel, in his thick british accent, pointing to Alfred's head. "Bloody young. The two of you couldn't even handle ten years?"

Gilbert peers at the green-eyed Angel from behind Alfred's neck, curious. He's been reevaluated twice before, and he'd never seen this Angel, though he'd heard that he had been given the pair who were most common in these cases, which was largely why he'd referred to the Spirits who would join them as "Stuffy." And despite the recent rise in population, re-evaluations aren't actually all that common. "What happened to Elizaveta, and Roderich? Aren't _they_ supposed to help the reevaluated? And where's the new Demon?"

The Angel holds up a hand to stop the barrage of questions, sighing once before beginning to reply. "How about you let me answer each question _before_ proceeding with the next eight million. Yes, Elizaveta and Roderich _are _typically the one's who help the reevaluated... when the problem is irresponsibility, and not a severe personality and swaying power imbalance in the Angel-Demon team. But, besides that, they're already on assignment, so they're not available, in any case. And as for the new Demon… Well, I'm sure Headquarters will send someone—"

There's a bang, and a taller blond appears, this one a Demon with a hairstyle similar to Matthew's, wearing a simple black suit with a blood red rose in its jacket pocket. Rather than the typical horns, he has pointed ears, and lacks a tail, though he does have large, black-feathered wings. He shortly begins yelling, in a French accent, about how they "couldn't do this to him" and "he hadn't done anything_ wrong _this time" and "why should _he_ have to help some incompetent fools at the cost of _his_ freedom."

"Any minute. Well, speak of the devil and all that." Arthur laughs nervously. "Terribly sorry to young Alfred, for all of the confusion. Anyway, I'm Arthur Kirkland, and I _hope_ we can all get along in the years to come." He finishes quickly, almost panicky as he concludes that _that_ whiny voice could only belong to one person...

A person who has fallen silent, also evaluating the other's speech and, turning to confirm that, yes, it was _that_ Arthur Kirkland, he can't help letting out a "hon, hon, hon," that leaves the other's blood cold, so-to-speak.

Except, it seems, Gilbert's.

"Hey, Francis, this is so awesome! It' seems like it's been forever!"

Francis smirks. "Yes. That does tend to happen when you get the two of us put on a practically permanent probation. Of course, _both_ of us _were_ almost out, when you dragged me back into this horrid business."

Gilbert is too busy hugging his old friend to take notice of the slight ice in his friend's tone.

"Um...Guys?"

"Yes, Al?" Matthew asked, coming out of his slight trance.

"Oh, nothing. Just wanted you to know that I was still alive, and that, while you were all arguing, I raided my neighbor's kitchen, and even managed to snatch about five hundred bucks, not that they'll miss it."

Gilbert jumps up, performing that embarrassing number rather uncomfortably known as the "victory dance."

"Yeah! Go, Al! That was awesome, those Angels didn't even notice!"

"Yes, excellent work… Alfred, was it? I look forward to seeing you among the ranks of Shoulder Demons in the future."

This snaps Arthur out of _his_, much deeper, trance, making him turn his head quickly to glare at Francis, eyes flashing.

"Nothing's been decided, you idiotic frog. Bloody hell, the boy's only ten years old, and even if he _does_ have _you_ on his shoulder, whispering those poisoned words of yours into his ear, he's not yet so far gone that I can't drag him back onto the right track."

"Yes, of course," Francis smiles wickedly, leaning nonchalantly against Alfred. "Nothing's been decided. It's _entirely_ possible that you can bring this boy away from the path of sinful fun and back on the hard, toiling path of righteousness. Just like you put 'Jack-the-Ripper' back on track. Or Adolf Hitler. Actually, now that I think of it, one of the only times you ever beat _me_ in the battle of morality was with little Alice, and we both know know where _she_ is now."

"You were Hitler's Shoulder Angel?" Alfred asks, intrigued.

"Damned Wanker!" Arthur shouts at the same time, "She was my daughter, you heartless bastard!" A furious Arthur lunges at the apparently smug Francis, but Matthew is trying to hold him down, and Gilbert is blocking his way.

"Temper, Temper," Francis taunts, clicking his tongue, "You ought to be careful, mon petit lapin. You might just be switched to Demon if you can't keep it in check."

"Righteous anger is encouraged as Angel behaviour, and you know it." Arthur retorts, scoffing as he plops down onto Alfred's shoulder in resignation, slightly calmer. "Besides, Headquarters wouldn't _dare_ reassign me. Especially not about something related to Alice. They know _some_ limits, at least."

"You were Hitler's Shoulder-Angel?" Alfred repeats, a bit impatiently.

"Yes. Quite probably one of the most embarrassing assignments of my career." Arthur replies bitterly. "Unfortunately, the Holocaust can't be blamed on Francis, though, or I'd be free of him. He'd have been permanently taken off duty, and it would have been anything but a retirement. Besides, he's not one for murder. His favorite sin is usually a bit more... artistic. No, I'm not even sure if Hitler knew we were real, or if he even heard us at all, considering the number of voices he had housed in his head..." Arthur answers, trailing off in thought.

"Voices? So, he _was_ crazy," Alfred says, nodding. He'd always thought so. No one could be_ that_ evil without having something wrong with their head.

"Yes. Although, I do have a theory about insanity. There are some specific voices that keep popping up, _usually_ only when I've been assigned another barmy nutter, but it's still strange that the same ones keep popping up."

Alfred is quiet as he realizes exactly what it was that Arthur had said, and then he asks, "Wait, you knew? Can you read minds, or something?"

Arthur shifts uncomfortably. "Well… yes, but not _much _more than any other Angel. It's just that while most only receive vague ideas of what their charges are feeling or thinking, to help prevent the possibility of being deceived by them, I can sometimes feel specifics, like what someone might be hiding if they try to tell only a partial truth, or different voices or tones in their thoughts."

Alfred is too tired to be particularly alarmed, but Matthew is looking at Arthur in slight awe, and not a little curiosity. If _he_ were able to get a bit more knowledge out of Alfred's thick skull, it probably would've been a bit longer before they were reevaluated. Though the boy was so stubborn that it was unlikely he could have put this off for too much longer.

Arthur is still rather uncomfortable. He doesn't like talking about his abilities, especially when some of them are often doubted. Like some of the ways he comes across information. It wasn't just slight _mind-reading_, that was certain. And the fact that he could read the minds of those who were a bit off their trolley better than those who were sane was regarded with suspicion. So, he decides to get back to business.

"Alfred, are you really serious about running away?" Arthur is trying to change the subject, how cute. "Alfred?"

"He's asleep," Matthew says, half in amusement, half in weariness. "We won't be able to wake him up." Matthew turns his gaze to Gilbert, eyes kind. It would do neither of them any good to deny the Demon the chance to do what he had begun this ridiculous crusade to achieve. "Gilbert… Go find Ludwig."

**So? Have I improved? Do you want more? I'll give it to you regardless, as I said, I've already written quite a bit of it, so I might as type it up and feed it too you wolves. I say that endearingly, of course.**

**The only cookie I want is called the review-chip cookie, and it is the golden apple of writer-food. But I can and will use any and all flames to perform Black Magic on the senders. Only semi-harmless, bad-luck curses, though.**

***This Chapter has been edited, but if you find a mistake, whether it be grammar, punctuation, exact repetition, etc. please inform me via a review or PM.**


	3. Chapter Two: Discovered Identities

**Alright, lets try this again. I told you I already had quite a bit of this written, and here's the proof. **

**No, I don't own Hetalia, that's absolutely ridiculous.**

**Anyway, on with the story...**

Chapter Two; Discovered Identities

A short time later, Gilbert teleports to the house he had lived in when he had been the Shoulder Demon of Haldis, Ludwig's mother. For a second, he blinks at the sudden light. It had been near eleven in the New York suburb, but here in California it was still almost eight. He wasn't certain that Ludwig would actually be here, but it was a start, at least. It would be faster to just contact Feliciano, or Lovino, but if Ludwig was bitter that he had stayed away for so long, he didn't want to be turned away before actually setting eyes on the boy he'd come to love as a brother in the seven years that he had known him.

Gilbert frowns. When Gil had known him, the very thought of Ludwig being bitter, or even holding a grudge, would have been inconceivable. But it had been ten years, and a lot could happen in ten years. Especially after losing everything, like Ludwig had. Other than Haldis, Romulus, her Shoulder Angel, Gilbert, Lovino, Ludwig's Shoulder Demon, and Feliciano, his Shoulder Angel, Ludwig had had no one. He was probably in a foster home somewhere, waiting to turn eighteen.

Gil finds himself struggling with second thoughts. What made him think that _this_ would be a good idea? He should have been patient, waited for nature to do its thing, and re-unite with Ludwig after either Alfred or Ludwig died. This was bound to get awkward...

A click in the lock surprises him, and he turns to see a baby-faced man with soft brown hair carrying groceries, most noticeably an entire brown bag of bright red tomatoes, and wearing a loose white shirt and jeans. This must be Antonio, a man Francis had told him about before he'd left. The one assigned to Roderich and Elizaveta.

And Ludwig.

They stare at each other for a moment, stunned. Then something flies toward the albino, arms out for a hug, yelling something in Italian, the force of whose launch almost sends them both skidding a few feet.

As they stop, Gilbert looks down at the Shoulder Angel, flustered. Feliciano, at least, was the same as ever. He even had the same look. A shirtless outfit consisting of a short, loose white skirt and, thankfully, underwear. He wasn't wearing shoes yet, either. He'd gotten rid of the Halo, though. And his wings weren't quite as… flamboyant as they had been. "Oh… Hey, Feli. Almost forgot you were a hugger," he says, chuckling uncomfortably. Oh well. No turning back now.

"Gilbert… Is that really you?"

Gilbert takes a moment to soak in Ludwig's appearance before he lets out another nervous chuckle. The eyes were the same blue, though they were more serious now. The hair the same light blond, cut the same as it used to be, even, except that Ludwig kept his bangs out of his eyes now. He still dresses immaculately, too, and he was wearing Haldis's cross necklace, which seemed to be in good repair. And he'd grown up tall and muscular, but well-proportioned, not over-kill steroids body builder. Overall, Ludwig seems healthy enough, and that makes Gilbert glad. "Yeah, sorry I didn't check up on you earlier, West,but I got re-assigned after, you-know, and I haven't been able to get away until now…" he finished, rubbing the back of his head.

Roderich lets out a self-righteous sigh, because naturally he has to act like a stuck-up prick (Which is why _he's_ the Demon, and Elizaveta is the Angel, despite her more obvious devious tendencies) and pushes up his glasses as he says, "Reevaluated _again_, Gilbert? One would think you _liked_ to be forced into indentured service." Roderich was sitting on Antonio's shoulder, probably contemplating another symphony, judging by the fact that his white suit was slightly crumpled. The only time he would ever allow such a thing to happen would be while he was composing. Music had been his life. If his music sheets hadn't been consumed by the fire that took both his and Elizaveta's lives while they slept, he would undoubtedly have been revered as one of the great composers. But he'd never know for certain, and that had upset the Austrian more than the fact of his death.

Gilbert shrugs, not really caring about the Demon's weak jibe. "I had to check on West."

"Um…" Antonio looks uncomfortable as he attempts to enter the conversation. "Clearly this is a very intimate moment, and I don't mean to intrude, but… Could someone please explain what's going on?"

It _is_ a touching moment. Really. But Gil and Ludwig are both so awkward...

"Shut up, tomato-bastard. No one wants to—"

Lovino has changed his look a little bit since Gil last saw him. He's more put-together now, less slovenly. He still wears a simple collared shirt and plain khakis, but they no longer look as though he's slept in them.

Feliciano holds a hand over his twins mouth, cringing in embarrassment. "Lovino…" He begs, "Please be quiet. This is a very touching moment for Ludwig, and you don't need to ruin it any more than you already have…"

Lovino ducks out of Feli's arms, freeing his mouth. "I don't care if that potato-bastard and his bastard pseudo-brother get upset. I just hate the sound of that tomato-bastards voice!"

After a short scuffle, Feliciano again succeeds in rendering his brother "speechless." Over the years, he's had quite a bit of practice in this area. They were younger than Elizaveta and Rodrich, but older than Gilbert, and they usually ended up with another assignment because of Lovino's foul mouth.

"Sorry about that, Gil, you know what he's like." He says, holding the still-struggling Lovino. "Antonio, Gilbert was Ludwigs mother's Shoulder Demon, and the two of them were like brothers for the first seven years of Ludwigs life, until his mother died. Then, Gilbert was forced to take another assignment, and they haven't seen each other for ten years."

"I see." says Antonio, looking sideways at the Italian shoulder-angel (Feli said all of that in one breath, and very, very fast.) Then he turns to Gil, smiling. "Hello, I am Antonio, the man who owns this house now, and after he explained his history with the house, I agreed to let Ludwig rent his old room. Will you be coming here often?"

"Probably…" He _wanted_ to, but it would be so awkward… Actually, he would. He definitely would. Gilbert Beilschmidt does not give up on his friends just because of a little awkwardness. Besides, after the first few visits, it won't be so bad.

"I _am_ curious, Gilbert." Elizaveta says over her shoulder as she writes something down in her notebook. "With us on assignment… Who's assisting you?"

"Francis—"

Elizaveta starts, abandoning the notebook. "Really?! But I thought they sent Arthur to help the your Angel, um…"

"Matthew. And yes, they did."

Elizaveta stands, her wings fanning out in alarm, the notebook sliding off her lap.. "What are they thinking?! They'll tear each other apart!"

"What are you talking about, Eliza?" Gilbert says, confused. "Yes, there seems to be some bad history between the two of them, but it didn't look like either had any murderous intentions. Just a lot of sexual tension and yelling."

"Maybe that's all it is now," Elizaveta concedes, picking up her notebook and placing it safely within the pocket of her apron, "but that _idiot_, Francis, is going to bring Arthur to murder the dead, I know he is. He just can't leave well enough alone. He was Arthur's first partner."

"I still don't understand what you're talking about."

Elizaveta shakes her head. "You mean, you're going to be _working_ with him, and you don't know who Arthur really is?" She asks incredulously.

Gilbert shakes his head. "I wouldn't need you to explain, if I did."

She sighs, exasperated. "Arthur is the Hand of Heaven."

Gilbert feels his stomach drop. He's heard the stories about assignments given to the Hand of Heaven during his second assignment. Had told Matthew the stories to pass the time before Alfred could walk or talk. Stories about potential serial killers and assignments with slowly eroding minds. The Hand of Heaven, one of the oldest Angels still on duty. It was rumored that the Heaven department of Headquarters wouldn't _let _him retire, because he had been around so long that, otherwise, it was a true wonder that he _hadn't_. It was even rumored that he had tried, many times, to achieve a second death, though whether there simply wasn't any way, or he'd succeeded, and then been brought back to continue doing Heavens dirty work, was anybody's guess.

Either way, it was the law that _everyone_, even those beyond redemption, must be provided with a Shoulder Angel, and a Shoulder Demon. And Headquarters favorite answer to a seemingly irredeemable case was the Hand of Heaven.

Then, Gilbert thinks back to sweet, innocent, if mischievous and (thanks to Gilbert) misguided, Alfred. Why was _he _the assignment of someone like the Hand of Heaven? And what did Francis have to do with…

Suddenly, it hits him.

"You mean that _Francis_ is…"

"Yes."

"But… Why would the two of _them_…" Gilbert continues, still wondering about the involvement of two legendary Shoulder Spirits with his small charge. After all, it really _had_ been just a simple reevaluation.

"Don't worry about it, Gil." says Elizaveta nonchalantly, sensing Gilberts uneasiness. After some time, her alarm had died down, and she saw that, perhaps, Headquarters had actually chosen the correct path for once. "Alfred's probably a sort of reward-assignment. Every once in a while, after he's convinced a future serial killer to not kill throughout his _entire_ life, or after a particularly upsetting assignment, such as Adolf Hitler, the Heaven department, or sometimes Headquarters themselves, will award him with an easy, sane assignment. And Francis is probably there because Headquarters was sick of the two of them being so at odds for all these centuries. It looks like they've finally to let them battle it out. Don't worry, though. Arthur's professional enough to not let personal issues interfere with the moral molding of young Alfred. Still, it'll be difficult working with them."

"Why doesn't Headquarters just keep the two apart?"

Elizaveta shrugs. "They're the best and the worst, Heaven's Hand and Hell's Fist. Headquarters likes to pair them up, and if they could manage to not fight so much, they'd actually succeed in stopping more killers."

"Makes sense," says Gil, nodding, "Um… Could you tell me?" he continues, not a little awkwardly. "What happened? During their first assignment?"

Elizaveta looks startled. 'Why?"

"Just… Curious, I guess. I've heard stories, but who's to say what's really true. And if I'm actually going to be working with the real deals..."

Elizaveta sighs, but nods, then says, "I don't know all the details, but I suppose this is the gist of it: They were assigned to a young girl named Alice, who, for some reason or other, possessed powers, much like those that Arthur had possessed when _he_ was alive. She stayed on the strait-and-narrow her whole life, and apparently Arthur got attached. Francis barely even tried to steer her off course… She was just such a sweet little girl, and everyone knew that when she died, she was bound to be the most amazing Angel… And Heaven, no… Headquarters couldn't wait. They saw how perfectly Arthur had turned out as a Shoulder Angel, how well his powers had manifested, and they decided that they had to have Alice immediately. Before she could be corrupted in any way. While she was still so young, before puberty, before hardship, before she could grow up… So, they… gave the kill order.

"But Arthur swore he wouldn't let them. He pleaded with Headquarters, begged them to just wait until she died naturally. When they wouldn't listen, he was frantic, fighting and calling for Francis to help, but Francis just stood by. And when the battle ended, Alice was dead. But Headquarters didn't win either, because the soul they finally lifted from Alice's body… it was twisted, scarred, and burned beyond recognition. It looked like Alice, but it was like the soul of someone who had seen and experienced inexplicable horrors, and been driven mad by them. Arthur nearly lost his _own_ mind when he saw it. I can't even comprehend what it must be to see that. Especially Arthur, with his added sensitivity. He'd have been able to see exactly how poor her condition was. Headquarters, at least, learned their lesson, and they haven't given the kill order for selfish reasons since, and when necessary, they kill indirectly. And they never battle over a soul like they did with Alice.

"But ever since, they've still used Arthurs resistance to work him to the bone. And Arthur doesn't protest when he's been given a new assignment, because he hasn't forgiven himself. But that doesn't matter, because he doesn't have a choice. He gets the standard five-year vacation every five assignments, but other than that he must work endlessly. He can't retire, and he can't even escape by giving up his place and becoming a ghost. And you'd think, after all these years, he'd have served his penance. But for whatever reason, Headquarters, or maybe it's Arthur himself, doesn't think so."

Gilbert is silent, eyes downcast. He couldn't imagine… What if it was him? What would _he_ have done, if the order had been to kill someone precious to him, like Ludwig…? The very idea was awful. "His own daughter…" He murmured.

The others gasped.

"Gil… You can't mean…"

Gilbert lifted his eyes, putting it out of his mind.

"I'd better get back. If you're right about those two, Mattie's going to need help. Besides, I don't want to come back to poor Alfred being woken up by a bloodbath. Bye, West! I'll visit again soon!"

**AND NOW, if you will direct your attention to the words below, I have something to say.**

**Why do none of you review? I know that my story has been looked at, but not **_**one**_** of you have reviewed, except for my own sister. Don't get me wrong, those three follows are greatly appreciated. However, as food for an authors soul, reviews are much more satisfying. **

**And yes, I know that the story has only been on for a day. On the other hand, most views come in the first few days being online, and I know that there have been quite a few already. At **_**least**_** more than 50 people have viewed this story, and I just want some feedback. **

**I don't mean to offend anyone, and I know how difficult reviewing can be via mobile. But please…**

**Feed a starving author?**

***This chapter has been edited, but please feel free to aid me by pointing out any questions, concerns, mistakes, etc. in a review.**

**~Serena**


	4. Chapter Three: Hopelessly in love?

**First of all, a huge 'Thank-You' to my two other reviewers. Do I wish more of you would review? Yes, I do. Am I satisfied? Not quite, but my hunger **_**has**_** abated. **

**Next, I was asked to explain my universe by one of the said reviewers, and so I shall.**

**Alfred is ten years old, and living. He is also Matthew's first assignment. He lives in a nice part of town, which is why he has rich neighbors, because his dad is rich, but his dad is literally never around, and his mom doesn't pay much attention to him. His older sister Amelia, who he used to call 'Meli, and later Emily, because he couldn't pronounce her name when he was little, is in college to be an actress, but is also getting a general degree. Her dream, however, is to be the first woman to play seriously on a Major League Baseball team.**

**Mattie is a Shoulder Angel, which means he has to spend Alfreds entire life trying to keep him in check. After that, he would have been given the choice to "move on," which is basically retirement, or become a ghost, which is sort of like quitting a job. No benefits, no "heaven," you're still stuck on earth, you just no longer have to provide anyone with moral guidance. And you lose the limited physical form you would have as a Shoulder Spirit. Except that Gil got them reevaluated, so now both of them are only given the option of taking another assignment. Which is an option anyways, it just has no real benefits. Like a job where you get payed in room and board, except that you could have decided to get room and board for free if you'd wanted to. When he was alive, Francis was his Shoulder Demon.**

**Gilbert is Matthews current partner. He has had three assignments before Alfred. His first lived to be an old man, but during that time Gilbert, and his partner, an Angel named Sophia, managed to get reevaluated **_**twice**_** because of him, resulting in first Roderich and Elizaveta, and then Francis, and an Angel named Lucille, joining them. Gilbert also got Francis and himself in some major trouble, but they were not officially reevaluated again because Headquarters (Which is like Heaven and Hell combined as a company, and basically runs the whole Shoulder Angels/Demons show, even though nobody knows who the real mastermind is.) thought that it might be a bit much to expect **_**another **_**pair of Shoulder Spirits to share the already-crowded space. Gilbert managed to avoid being evaluated during his next two assignments, an unnamed woman (Gil heard the stories about the "Hand of Heaven" and the "Fist of Hell" then, and he told Matthew the stories when Alfred was just a baby.) , and Ludwig's mother, Haldis. Alfred was going to be his last mandatory assignment when Gil purposefully got reevaluated so that he could check on Ludwig. Gilbert **_**is**_** Prussian, because he died before it was dissolved.**

**Francis had been out of the game for ten years, after Matthew, happily(ish) retired. He was initially irritated at Gil for, once again, dragging him back into the business, but they had become friends during Gilberts first assignment, and, besides, he gets to see Arthur.**

**Arthur, like Francis, has been around for many centuries. You'll learn more about the two of them soon enough.**

**I left the two of them mostly blank because I intend on explaining it throughout the story.**

**The Vargas twins have been around for a bit, and they're almost always partners. Feli is the Angel, and Lovi the Demon, for obvious reasons. They died together. Both of them are currently Ludwig's Shoulder Spirits. Lovino's sour temper and tongue are the reason that they haven't retired yet.**

**I think I explained Ludwig well enough, but here's a recap, and a little extra. Gilbert was his mother's Shoulder Demon, and the two of them were like brothers until Ludwig was seven, and his mother died in a car accident, while Gil was forced to move on. He had no other family, and his father was conspicuously absent (Gilbert won't talk about it, and neither would Ludwig's mother.) He lived in foster homes until recently, and is now an emancipated teen renting from Antonio.**

**Antonio is living. Francis knows that he is assigned to Elizaveta and Roderich, and not much else. I said "a man Francis had told him about" because Francis **_**did**_** tell Gil about him, when Gil asked him why Elizaveta and Roderich hadn't been the ones to help him after he was reevaluated.**

**Elizaveta and Roderich have been around longer than either Gilbert or the Vargas twins, but not around as long as Arthur and Francis, younger than them by at least a century and a half. They were a married couple in life, and died in a house fire due to smoke inhalation. They are very knowledgeable, **_**always **_**partners, and continue doing assignments by choice. Roderich is the Demon (he insists that it's a mistake) and Elizaveta is the Angel (despite some of her more devious tendencies.)**

**I hope that's an adequate explanation, but if you have any more questions, just state them in a review. If I feel that answering your questions will not ruin a part of the story I have planned, I will answer them in the next chapter.**

Chapter Three: Hopelessly in Love?

"I hope you had fun, Gilbert, because it looks like we'll have more trouble keeping those two in line then they will us." Says Matthew, casting an irked glance in the direction of the others.

Gilbert steps onto a sunflower head next to Matthew, nodding as his eyes adjust to a second change in light. It was almost one in the morning here, now. Odd. Gilbert didn't think he'd been gone so long. "More difficult than you might think. I met Roderich and Elizaveta at Ludwigs, and apparently, our two new partners are, respectively, the Hand of Heaven, and the Fist of Hell, and they were each others' first partners."

Mattie climbs up to Gilberts sunflower, moving to sit beside him, whispering. "You mean…"

"Yup." says Gil, then, with his best movie announcer voice, "Thats right, folks, those legendary rivals, the perfect, incredibly dysfunctional team, assigned to all the most hopeless potential scum of the world, are going to be sharing _our_ shoulder space. And that's not all…"

Gilbert proceeds to tell Matthew precisely what Elizaveta had told him, adding his own personal speculation, of course. _And_ in a more sober tone. Matthew was quiet for most of it, commenting on occasion. When Gilbert finished, the sky is considerably lighter, though the sun hasn't quite begun to rise.

"But… That's awful…" Matthew breathes when Gil finishes.

"What is awful, mes amis?" Francis's voice appears suddenly, startling them both. Thankfully, though, he doesn't seem to have heard anything besides the one comment.

"N-nothing!" Matthew protests, turning to the French Demon.

"Really?" Francis leans over the two of them, practically looming. "It did not _sound_ like nothing, mes amis, and I _am _curious…" Suddenly, a wicked grin spreads across his face. "Of course, if you'd like to change the subject, we _could _talk about whether or not the two of you are involved with one another… And, if not, why."

"S-stop it, Francis!" Matthew splutters. "C'est rien d'important. You're just being nosy again."

Francis merely narrows his eyes, leaning towards the Canadian. "Do I know you…" Then, it comes to him. "Oh, that's right! You were my last assignment, or, rather, what was _supposed_ to be my last assignment. The Canadian. Knew _you'd_ be an Angel, you were always _so_ polite. I can see why you had to be reevaluated, though. Someone of your temperament shouldn't have been expected to compete with someone as 'outgoing' as Gil in the first place. Especially since he could almost give dear old Iggy a run for his money." He says. Then, as an afterthought... "Oh, look, the kid's awake."

Alfred sits up groggily, and looks, sleepily, in the direction of the Shoulder Spirits. He'd slept in his bomber jacket, so it's wrinkled now, and the plain backpack he'd brought with him is on the ground nearby. All in all, it made the second most adorable picture of him being sleepy that was possible, beat only by the first time he'd gone to McDonalds and ended up asleep, half-eaten burger in hand, on the lap of a plaster Ronald McDonald statue.

"Why are there four of you now…?" He slurs, still half asleep. "And one of you is sleeping. I didn't know that you _could_ sleep."

Matthew glances reflexively at the snoring Arthur, saying, "Neither did I. Actually, I meant to ask you about that, Gil."

Gilbert shrugs his shoulders, turning to Francis, who evidently decides to explain, because he says, "When a Spirit is made to continue their service far beyond the appointed term, farther than we really should _ever_ be expected to without _some_ sort of drain, they learn to 'sleep' as a way to combat the unnatural tiredness of their long 'life.' Of course, it's dangerous, due to the possibility of both a Demon and the human being conscious at the same time, without an Angel mediator, which could, admittedly, wreak havoc. Iggy's too dutiful to allow that to happen, but I've learned that if _I _sleep for a few hours, he's bound to sleep for a few more." Suddenly, Francis gains a more mischievous glint to his eye. "And as long as you three don't blow my cover, and I pretend to wake up when he does, Iggy's likely to continue to do so. Although…" Francis smiles wickedly. "I _have_ always wanted to stand over him smugly as he wakes up."

"Iggy?" Alfred repeats. "I thought his name was Arthur." Alfred is now fully awake, and remembers what happened last night. He still looks adorable, though, with that sleepy look in his eyes, and his jacket all rumpled.

"Just a little pet name I came up with for him," Francis says, half murmuring. "He didn't like it, but I told him that I _would_ give him a nickname. But that I'd let him pick, if he'd make minimal fuss. Angleterre, Mon Petit Lapin, or Iggy. He didn't like the French, especially when I wouldn't tell him what they meant, so he settled for Iggy. And I've gotten used to calling him that, though I actually prefer mon lapin."

"Why do you call him a rabbit?" Matthew asks, sitting down. "He's obviously British, so I understand why you might call him England, but why a rabbit?"

Francis chuckles, staring into the distance. "Because that's what he acted like at first, a scared little rabbit, jumping and starting. Especially once he realized that the little baby we were watching was… Anyways, he'd literally jump into the air at the slightest thing. And then he'd fall when he realized his wings were holding him up. I always assumed that he skipped orientation, except that I couldn't imagine him ever acting so irresponsible."

"Theres an orientation?" Matthew asks, confused.

Francis turns to him, cocking his head. "Do Angels not get one?"

"Probably not…" Matthew murmurs. Then, so quiet the others don't hear him. "Or they might have just forgotten to give one to _me_."

They sit in silence for a while, as the sun rises.

All of a sudden, Gilbert pipes up again. "Hey, Al! Where are you going?"

Alfred smiles as he continues walking down the street. "Away, remember? Nothings changed about that. I'm _already_ a thief, and it's possible that my mom's up by now. I'm not going back just to get in trouble for stealing some money those snobs across the street will never miss."

"Alfred, your mom's going to be worried."

Alfred laughs bitterly. "Then she can file a missing persons report, when she notices. I might just come back when she does."

Francis grins. Perhaps this would be interesting after boy seemed headstrong. Arthur was bound to lose patience quickly, and that was always fun to watch. And it would be even more interesting to see how Alfred reacted to Arthur, who was sometimes so stuffy. Especially since he was American. A laidback, _modern_ American at that. Arthur was very patriotic, and the fact that the British Empire ever lost a war to an upstart nation was always a point of contention for him.

"Wait a moment, Alfred," he calls. "I'll get Arthur."

Matthew holds back, scrutinizing the blue-eyed demon. Having had him as a Shoulder Demon, Matthew knew Francis's mindset. And, given what he had learned about Arthur, he doubted that his fellow Angel would appreciate waking up to find Francis taking advantage of him in any way. "Do you need help carrying him, Francis?" he says, sincere. "I know you aren't the most athletic."

"Non, mon ami canadien. I should be fine. Mon petit lapin is so light, I would think that he died from hunger, if it were not that all evidence of how you died is erased."

This is because, obviously, it might scar young children just a wee bit if they ended up with a Shoulder Spirit who had experienced a particularly gruesome death. Spirits could, also, too a degree, choose to appear as an age younger than they strictly were at their death, and appear to have more limbs than they might, necessarily, have had in life. For instance, someone born without legs would find, in their afterlife, that they would be given some, if they so desired. This was a measure to increase happiness after death that was suggested and put into place by Afterlife, and one which many Spirits felt grateful for.

Francis picks up the Brit, quickly carrying him princess-style to Alfreds left shoulder.

Mattie is, for good reason, still worried. "Francis, Arthur belongs on the right shoulder, not the—"

Francis shushes him. "You'll wake him. He looks very peaceful right now, and I'd appreciate the sight of him refraining from speaking for a while longer." He says as he kneels next to Arthur, eyes twinkling in amusement. Examining the English Angels face, a new fancy strikes him, and he pokes at the mans thick eyebrows.

"Wonder what he'd do to me if I plucked those horrid eyebrows of his again." He murmurs quietly. "It's been a while since I tried that. Of course, I only succeeded once, and that was an accident…" Francis smiles. "It _would_ be worth it, though. If only for his reaction. Even if he chopped my hair off again."

Gilbert grabs a stunned Matthew, and flies back to the sunflower they were sitting on before, whispering in Mattie's ear.

"Birdie, is it just me, or has Francis been sounding…"

"Hopelessly in love." The Canadian finished. "Yes. But then, why…"

"Yes. Why stand by while Headquarters killed Alice? And why tease Arthur about Alice's fate? It doesn't make any sense."

**Good vibes going to those who review. I might even bake you some cookies, if I think your review well thought out and creative.**

***This chapter has been edited, and ludwig's mother is now named Haldis. however, please be sure to mention any inconsistencies.**

**~Serena**


	5. Chapter Four: Ivan

**So, I promised you regular updates over the summer, and instead I take a summer-long hiatus. This chapter is my only excuse. I have quite a few chapters after this already written, but then I realized that Ivan would need to be introduced earlier in the story if I wanted the storyline to flow the way I intend it to. I also apologize in advance for any OOCness on Ivan's part. I tried my best, but he was giving me trouble, which is another reason why this chapter took so long.**

Chapter Four; Ivan

It's Sunday morning, and Ivan sits at his desk, deep in thought, an open copy of George Orwell's Animal Farm in front of him. One of his Angels, Toris, is playing Uno with one of his Demons, Feliks, to pass the time, while his other Angel, Katyusha, and Demon, Natalya, nap.

His grandfather is at the door, tapping his foot. Toris looks ready to mention it, and his grandfather is just about to clear his throat, when Ivan looks up and turns to his grandfather, violet eyes cool.

They stay like that for a while, both obviously waiting for the other to speak first. With each tap of the grandfathers foot, Toris becomes grows anxious, and Feliks more amused.

The grandfather's Shoulder Spirits, a pair of old codgers who had been married in life, and had died side-by-side in a car accident, are on their respective shoulders, also tapping their feet as they scowl at the "young" (Feliks and Toris are actually older than them, if you go by years of experience, and Katyusha and Natalya are just as old, or even a little older.) "troublemakers."

Ivan isn't a fool. He knows that his grandfather either wants something from him, or is upset with him. And, since he can't remember doing anything he considers wrong, or even something that might upset his grandfather enough to justify a lecture, rather than a note on his door detailing punishment, he assumes that his grandfather wants something from him. And he isn't going to be the first to speak and make it easier for his grandfather to admit that he is in need of something.

Of course, even if he _had_ known of his grandfathers complaint against him, it wouldn't have made any difference. His grandfather would have never believed that he was innocent. After all, one can imagine that Ivan's track record did nothing to promote his character. And his grandfather trusted no one in the house, other than his own Angel, so none of the others would be able to vouch for him.

Admittedly, his grandfather had good reason. Katyusha and Natasha were both too infatuated with Ivan to ever betray him, and his mother was hardly better, though _her_ main motivation was guilt. Besides which, she was always out shopping anyway, so she could hardly be called a reliable champion. As for the others, his mother's Shoulder Angel, Raivis, and Demon, Edward, along with Toris, were too intimidated by Ivan to do so either, under normal circumstances, though sometimes Raivis would blurt out compromising information without thinking. And even though Feliks was _not_ intimidated by Ivan, or even particularly fond of him, he was a Demon. Ivans grandfather did not even trust his own Demon.

And though his grandfather was insistent on sending his Angel to watch Ivan often, she could hardly watch him every moment.

That's why, when his grandfather finally breaks the silence with accusations, Ivan stays silent.

Ivan hadn't taken either the money _or_ the food, though he wasn't in trouble for _that_. As his grandfather puts it, he doesn't _care_ if Ivan wants a snack sometimes, but Ivan needs to stick to his allowance when it comes to money. His grandfather never complained about his _mother's _spending habits, but that was only because Ivan's mother was insufferable. As far as his grandfather was concerned, Ivan would _not _be allowed to take money without asking.

Nevertheless, if his grandfather had paused to think, he would have realized that, quite apart from this not being Ivan's style, Ivan, who had a steady allowance despite the fact that he rarely bought anything, had no reason to take any extra cash. And that, even if he _had_, he would have admitted to it, since Ivan never really understood what upset his grandfather so much about what he considered to be, if anything, simple noncompliance. And even when he did something so heinous that even _he _recognized it as a misdemeanor, he was surprised by the strength of his grandfather's reactions.

Still, _someone_ had taken the money, and his mother only ever took credit cards. Not only was it easier, since she never had to worry about New York sales tax, or other added costs when she was out shopping in the city, it was also relatively cleaner than cash.

So someone must have actually broken in and stolen it. (Ivan was always thinking that they needed a more modern security system, but his grandfather was "old-fashioned" in many respects.) The only question was: who? A serious burglar would have taken more than a measly $500, and why the food? If anything, the small amount of money, coupled with the food, suggested either someone homeless, or a child, who hoped that, by taking a relatively small amount, the theft would go unnoticed. Which was probably why his grandfather, automatically assuming that locked doors were enough to keep out beggars, suspected him. Ivan can't help but feel a tiny inkling of respect for the thief, whoever they are. If his grandfather wasn't as strict and organized as he was, Ivan felt that such a trick might actually work.

A sharp pain brings his train of thought crashing into a wall, and as his grandfather begins another lecture about how Ivan never pays attention to him, he finds himself longing for Dedushka, his father's father.

When his father had still been alive, they had lived with Dedushka. He hadn't been part of a rich family then, since his grandfather had wanted nothing to do with the "low-life" son of a poor Russian immigrant who had run off with his daughter, and he felt no obligation to Ivan (they weren't exactly starving to death) though he still financed his daughters shopping trips. But those had been happier days. Dedushka had had a big farm in the northern half of the state, and though the work was sometimes hard, it was satisfying. And their "neighbors" (farms in New York aren't exactly on blocks, so by neighbors I mean those in the general vicinity) were nice enough, though Ivan used to think they were a bit strange, since they were Amish. But then, _their_ kids had thought that Dedushka and Babushka were strange, since they were Russian, and that his mother was strange because she drove around in a fancy car and still lived and acted like the city girl she was, even when she was at the farm. Often, when he sat outside, Ivan would find himself missing his old view of plants, hills, and trees, with few houses, and certainly no suburbia, blocking the sights, such as they were. When his mother took him in to New York City to visit Dedushka in the hospital, Ivan missed the farm much more intensely than usual, the crowds of people and loud sounds of life making him desperately wish for the peace and quiet in his old sunflower fields, and when he got home, he would hide among his sunflowers, a small piece of his old home still present in his new one.

His mother, on the other hand, had been and always would be a city girl through and through. She thrived on busy life and crowded places. After the fire, she had wanted to move deep into the city, had argued that the suburbs were inconvenient, and quiet. But Ivans grandfather liked the quiet, one of the only things about him that Ivan could honestly say he appreciated. In the city, he wouldn't have even been able to grow one of the very small varieties of sunflower, let alone his Russian Mammoths, which he couldn't even grow now. Since she detested the country so much, his mother hadn't been around that much when he was younger, often staying with friends in the city, and she had once been away for an entire summer, the one right after kindergarten, when he had started to cultivate sunflowers. When school started, she came back to get her stuff, then left again, only coming back on holidays, and random weeks.

Since she was hardly around, most of his happiest memories didn't include her. Like in winter, a few days before Novi God (New Years), their family's biggest holiday.

Ivan, anxious for Ded Moroz and Snegurochka to bring his presents, despite the fact that there were still three days until Novi God Years, would sit in the big armchair by the fire with Dedushka. The Angels and Demons on the back and arms, Babushka in the kitchen baking gingerbread, pastila, Vatrushka, chak-chak, apples, and Ivans favorite, Ptichie Moloko, in preparation for the coming holidays (western Christmas was already over, but they still had New Years, Orthodox Christmas, and Old New Years to celebrate.) And his father nearby, doing paperwork, or writing in his journal, pausing every once in a while to comment on the story that Dedushka was reading Ivan. Meanwhile, his mother would be in the city, probably shopping for a new dress to wear to the ball drop in times square while they had their family dinner.

Still, she gave him expensive gifts, which, being the way _her _father had showed his love to her, was the only way she knew to show her love for _him_. And she _did _love him, and his father, and even got along with Dedushka and Babushka. But she had _hated_ the farm.

There were other happy memories. Notably, midnight games of "find-your-father," courtesy of his fathers tendency to sleepwalk. "Help us find him," Babushka would say. "You're the best at it."

Ivan has to smile. He'd only been the "best" because he knew where to look: halfway between the chickens and the goats. Too late, he remembers that he was being yelled at. Accused of something.

Theft.

The smile angers his grandfather, who reaches out to grab Ivan by his long scarf, (which had once been pink, but was now faded to a more tan-like shade), but not as much as the injustice of the situation angered Ivan.

He'd never stolen money, not once. Sure, back at the farm, when they went to the general store in the town nearest the farm (which was also where the library was, and where Ivan went to school when he was younger,) he might have pinched an extra few candies without paying, but he hadn't been rich then, and he'd known that they overpriced things in order to make a bigger profit anyway, so when they sold a candy for two dollars that would be one dollar at a big store, he'd buy one, and take another. But after he'd come to the suburb, he hadn't stolen anything. He had no reason to. His allowance made him richer in a month than he'd ever been on the farm.

And he'd been _trying_ to be "good" recently, not doing anything that he knew would make his grandfather yell at him, or anything that would send him to the principal's office in school, even when he thought that not being allowed to do such things was ridiculous.

His grandfather pulls too hard, and the scarf comes undone, revealing the scars beneath. His grandfather had moved to hit him, seeing Ivan stumble back, and thinking that he was trying to get away, but he stops when he sees the scars.

"I'll leave your punishment on your door."

He leaves, and Ivan replaces the scarf, then lays down on the bed. Katyusha and Natalya are still sleeping, and Feliks has been enjoying the show. Toris seems like he might approach Ivan, but obviously thinks better of it, because he doesn't.

Ivan's grandfather never hits him after he sees the scars from the fire. They remind him that Ivan has already suffered. They remind _Ivan_ that he no longer lives on the farm, because the farm is gone. Like his father, and Babushka. And Dedushka, too, because he was in a coma, and even Ivan doubts that he will ever wake up again.

That's why he always wears the long coat, and the scarf. Even though the scarf was pink at first. He doesn't want to be reminded of what he has lost, any more than he wants to be reminded of what was forced to do because of it: come here, to this life in suburbia. A rich kid in rich kid city. He had to rely on his mother now, and _she_ wasn't going back to the country.

It had been hard, though. Especially in the beginning, fresh from the fire, and as shy as he had been, but even now, when the others no longer dared to pick on him. When he had first arrived at his grandfather's house, though, the bullying had been almost unbearable. There were numerous reasons for him to be a target. He was new, he was shy, he was a "country boy," and he always wore a long coat and pink scarf, which, while not poor or dirty, weren't new, designer, _or_ expensive, despite the fact that his family was rich, even among those in the neighborhood.

And the four Shoulder Spirits, of course.

Everyone wanted to know what he had done to earn an extra pair. Whether they were jealous, or just curious, wasn't entirely apparent, but it was one more thing to set him apart. Especially since he couldn't remember ever doing anything to warrant an extra two. He'd just… always had them, or nearly always. But when he'd told those who asked that he didn't remember, they'd assumed the same thing that his grandfather had. That is, they assumed that it was _really_ bad, something no one would want to admit to.

Which also meant that teachers watched him more closely, even as, assuming that someone who was enough of a problem child to have two pairs of Shoulder Spirits was more than capable of taking care of themselves, they turned blind eyes to those bullying him.

It was only a matter of time before the pressure cracked him, and after that, it was only natural for him to start living up to his reputation, though his intentions were, at the very least, not malicious.

He wanted friends, not enemies. Being shy wasn't working. So he became more so forceful in his endeavors for friends that he intimidated people into into being his friends, or at least leaving him alone. He also became overly friendly, and determined. The more he wanted someone to be his friend, the more insistent he was.

But at least once he was living up to his reputation, and, consequently, acting scarier, the bullies were dissuaded.

Being accused of and punished for something he actually did had never bothered him, since half the punishments he was given didn't affect him, and the other half weren't enforced. But to be accused of this, something he hadn't done, and wouldn't have done, angers him. The fact that his grandfather would never believe that he was innocent added the sting of insult to injury. Because he'd always done what he'd been accused of, this was a new feeling, which meant it was also more intense.

He would find whoever was responsible for this.

He would make them pay, make them confess.

Clear his name.

**Well? What do you people think? I tried to incorporate some of the advice that I've received via review, and I would like to thank firelight3 and Sentariana (sorry I couldn't have progressed more with Alfred ths time, but as I said, this chapter needed to be here) for their appreciative reviews, and a huge thanks to PersonifyThis, for her awesome constructive criticism! I didn't think it "nit picky" in the least.**

**I look forward to all of your guy's input on this most recent chapter!**

***This chapter has been edited, but please feel free to point out any issues, problems, mistakes, etc.**

**~Serena**


	6. Chapter Five: Unexpected Developements

**So, I **_**was **_**hoping for a couple more reviews before I updated again, but this chapter's so short that I'm not going to be stingy. I actually would have updated this one on the 20th, my birthday, but things happened and I didn't get the chance to actually update it today, though I finished typing it on Monday. Anyway, here you go…**

Chapter Five; Unexpected Developments

"Is he alright?" Alfred asks, worried, holding the still-sleeping Arthur in his hands. It was near lunch now, and Arthur still hadn't woken up. "You said that he usually wakes up a few hours after you, didn't you?"

Francis is hovering nearby, frowning. "Yes, I did. He's very dutiful, despite, or perhaps because of, everything, and he would never knowingly leave an assignment unattended. Under normal circumstances, though, we choose how long we 'sleep.' So, unless his few assignments have been particularly taxing, and he figured that Matthew could handle Gilbert and myself while he rested, I don't know of any reason for him to not be conscious."

Matthew is pouting as he sits on Alfreds shoulder. "That's a joke. Alfred didn't listen to me when I only had Gilbert to compete with. As it is, I've given up until Arthur wakes up."

Gil pokes at him, trying to get him to react. "Come on, Birdie. It's not as awesome keeping Alfred on the path of Fun and Naughtiness without you complaining about it."

Alfred grins, adding, "And I do _hear_ you, Mattie. I just don't see why I have to listen, half the time. And I _do_ listen the other half. Like when you talked me out of stealing Mom's grocery money for this adventure."

"And then you stole from your neighbors!"

"Who are much richer than Mom and won't be affected by the loss in the least."

Matthew looks ready to continue the argument, but then sighs in surrender. Alfred is always willing to bend rules when it comes to moral conflicts. Always justifying himself when it comes to doing wrong. Which is part of the reason why he's been reevaluated at ten years old.

Francis kneels, gathering Arthur into his arms once more. "Alfred, if you're still serious about running away, then I suggest that we get as far as we can from your house while mon lapin is still asleep."

Alfred nods, placing them on his shoulder, and sets off at a determined pace, picking turns at random.

"You're going to get us lost," Matthew remarks, slightly bored.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mattie," Alfred retorts over his shoulder. "You can't get lost when you don't know how to get where you're going in the first place."

**See? It's **_**really**_** short. As is my review thank-you list. Which is comprised of North13, who I would like to thank for her complementary review. If you think my story line's imaginative **_**now, **_**I can't wait to see what you'll think of my **_**next**_** chapter.**

**Until then!**

***This chapter has been edited, but please feel free to point out any mistakes.**

**~Serena**


	7. Chapter Six: Oliver

**Hello, again. I wanted to wait a bit longer before giving you this chapter, saw, a few more review, maybe, but then I thought… Why not. I'll give it to you now. Mostly because I really like this chapter.**

**Also, I'm officially putting this story on Wattpad.**

Chapter Six; Oliver

Arthur's continued sleep was by no means his choice. Nor was it particularly restful.

"Arthur," a voice purrs. It can only be described as a purr. It sounds dark, dangerous.

Eerily familiar.

"What do you _want_?" Arthur snarls. This was the voice from when he was alive, the voice from the battle to protect his daughter.

The voice that had haunted him at his every turn. Every assignment. No matter where he went, or how much he drowned himself in drink or sleep between jobs. It didn't matter how busy he kept himself.

Or how desperately he tried to run away.

But that voice, that damned voice, had never actually shown up in his dreams. It had always been a few taunting words here, a laugh there, once in a while a sarcastic comment, but always while he was conscious. And _never_ a conversation. And even now, the voice wasn't answering him. Just laughing, laughing, laughing…

"I said, _what do you want!?_"

Again, with that bloody laugh. It still turns him cold, even after all these years. That laugh, and then the sickening realization that no one had won. The slow turn, to the sight of Alice's soul, shattered and twisted. And the anger, at Headquarters, and at the voice.

That voice had possessed the damned frog. It had made that bastard turn on him when he'd needed an ally most, though it had not fought for Headquarters either. And, after, a mixed blessing; rearranging the Demon's memory. Making it so that Francis hadn't begged for forgiveness, probably still thought that he'd been out scouting when Headquarters had launched a surprise attack, and been too far to hear Arthur calling him.

But Francis had been on the battlefield, laughing, but not with his own voice. With _that _one. Had given that last, bloodcurdling laugh as they all realized their mistake, and then stopped. Francis, on the ground in a heap, and Alice, gone past even death.

Maybe if he hadn't stood in Headquarters way, then at least Alice's soul would still be whole. But that didn't matter now. Now, all he could do was pay penance. Pay penance, and hope that time would heal his daughters wounds.

And he couldn't blame anyone but himself, not even the bloody frog, because he _knew_ it wasn't the Frenchman's fault. The voice knew Arthur's weaknesses, knew Arthur better than Arthur knew himself (which is totally unfair, because Arthur knows next to nothing about _him_.) The voice knew that Arthur wouldn't be able to stand losing both Alice _and_ Francis. Never. Though he'd also never admit that to the French Demon. And Headquarters couldn't have known what the result of their actions would be. If they had, they would have stopped once Arthur had made it clear that he would resist them, no matter what. They didn't believe in waste.

"Well, then, it's been nice 'chatting' with you, but if all you wanted to do was laugh at me, you can do it while I'm conscious."

More laughter. Arthur tries to wake up, focusing on contacting his physical self, only to find a barrier.

As if it can sense his frustration, the voice begins to laugh more vigorously, guffawing as though he had just been told the funniest joke in the world.

"Bloody ecstatic that I amuse you. Really, I am. But, if you don't mind, I'd like to wake up now."

"Oh, but _Arthur_," the voice whines, "You just got here."

"Yes, I _did_," Arthur concedes. "But I've seen, or, rather, _heard_, enough for me to know that once is more than enough for me. So, if you please, I'd like to wake up now. If you _must_, you can contact me while I make sure that Francis doesn't turn that boy into a criminal mastermind."

"Such a gentleman," the voice taunts. It's closer now, in his ear. As if someone were whispering a secret to him while hanging upside down. He could feel hair, cut short, maybe even in a similar style to his own, and cold lips.

"But you see, Arthur, that would simply be no _fun_. I'm finding that it's much more amusing when you actually _talk _to me."

Arthur bolts a few feet, to rid himself of the sensation of whatever-that-was, and turns to see… nothing.

Of course. It couldn't ever be that easy.

But that did slightly narrow the suspect list. Whoever was tormenting him had to be invisible, capable of turning invisible, or very, very fast.

"Let me see your face, you coward." Arthur spits, disdainful and disgusted.

Not a full laugh, this time. A chuckle. "Oh… Very well."

A face flickers in. Arthur catches a few glimpses. A shock of strawberry-blond hair. Blue eyes, ringed with pink. And the unsettling feeling of looking into a funhouse mirror.

Then he's looking into Francis's face, the frogs arms behind his back, just below his wing joints, and beneath his knees.

He closes his eyes again quickly. Damn it, but he's tired. More tired than he's ever been before, even when he was alive. Tired, not just of a long life of service, but of everything else, too. Tired of existence. Tired of guilt. But more than that, he was just plain exhausted.

He manages to hear snippets of a conversation, something about not getting lost, before falling into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

**Here, I would like to thank the guest who cared enough to leave a comment, though it was only one word. And to pastaaddict, who commented six hours ago. You're the reason I relented about waiting a bit longer to update.**

***This chapter has been edited, but please mention any errors I may have overlooked.**

**~Serena**


	8. Chapter Seven: Some Explanations

**Hello, my lovelies. Here I am. Also, I'll have you know that I am now typing exclusively after school and during our break, because my parents got sick of me and my six siblings (well, only five of them were actually participating in this problem, the other's barely a year old) being on the electronics all the time. So now, except for closely monitored school uses, every single electronic in my house, except for their password protected laptop and cell phones (and this only because mine is a useless flip-phone), are literally locked up in my mother's closet until such time as our bedrooms, our attic/library, and the general house is clean, and stays that way.**

**However, I am going to try my best to update as frequently as possible, if only because I want to give you folks a Halloween special on Halloween, but I need to get to that part of the story before I post it.**

Chapter Seven; Some Explanations

Alfred woke, for the second time, to a sleeping Angel. The others were all quiet, worried. Alfred was worried, too. He didn't think that sleep was necessary for Shoulder Spirits to function: he'd never seen Gil or Mattie sleep; indeed, they never did. And even if Shoulder Spirits _did_ need sleep, Alfred didn't think it would be normal for _anyone_ to sleep as long as Arthur has.

"Any change?" he asks, wiping off his jacket and folding his slightly damp blanket before putting it into his backpack. He'd slept in the backyard of a house that was for sale (there was a sign in front) and he was beginning to regret not trying harder to get into the house, or, at the very least, the small tool shed nearby. He couldn't exactly stop to dry his blanket, and the dew, not to mention the chill, would make tomorrow night very uncomfortable. But, regardless, it was too late now.

"No," Francis replies, from his position of kneeling beside Arthur, "Nothing."

"But he's not, like, dead again?" asks Alfred uncertainly. "Or, I don't know, in a sort of post-life coma? Is that even possible?"

"I wouldn't really know." Francis retorts. "That sort of information is dealt with by Afterlife, which you can only become a member of after you've retired. Clearly, I am not retired. Even so, I _have _seen him sleep this long before, so it's too soon to panic.

"For instance, almost all he ever does between jobs is drink until he passes out-which doesn't take long-or just sleep off his 'existence exhaustion'" (which is a term that Afterlife came up with specifically for Arthur. Since Francis didn't seem to be hampered by it, though, there was a branch working on a theory that either: A, Angels were more susceptible to it; B, it only affected those who had experienced great pain or loss; or, C, it was a phenomenon specific to Arthur, and might, possibly, be caused by his abilities.) "But it can't be either of those, because he's on assignment. Still, he's still been brought to this state on two separate occasions. Once after dreamwalking in an attempt to discover the identity of the true person behind the controls of Headquarters, and after his daughter's death."

"Why would his daughter's death send Arthur into a deep sleep?" Alfred asks, with all the innocence and self-assurance of a child who is certain he knows all there is to know about the worlds suffering. "Doesn't death just mean that you become a Spirit and spend the rest of your existence either advising people, 'living' in the afterworld, or" Here, he gives a little shudder. He doesn't like ghosts, never has. It was something his sister had constantly teased him about, and used against him, but they freaked him out. It wasn't natural, wanting to stay here on earth without any sort of form, just hanging around, scaring people. "haunting the living?"

"Non, mon ami." Francis says, his voice full of infinite sadness and regret. "I'm afraid that sometimes, death is not so kind."

**Thank-Yous to pastaaddict, fierysuzaku, BitterSweet Crazy, and, especially, Angel of Literature, whose long, appreciative comment literally made my day when I read it.**

***This chapter has been edited, but please point out mistakes as you notice them.**

**~Serena**


	9. Chapter Eight: Plans are Created

**Hey peoples, here I am today! And I'll be here tomorrow as well, if all goes as planned. My plot is finally (Kinda) getting somewhere!**

Chapter Eight; Plans Are Created

When school starts on monday, Ivan discovers the identity of the person responsible for the missing money.

It's one of the fifth graders.

His neighbor.

Alfred F. Jones.

There were few, if any, who could have irked Ivan more.

Despite being two grades above him, Ivan had always found himself noticing Alfred.

Alfred was the boy who always smiled, but never scared anyone with his smile, though he'd been known to play a few freaky pranks. The boy who always seemed to, for the most part, have the best intentions., but sometimes said things that, from anyone else, could only be viewed as an insult. Who was always laughing merrily with friends, which he gathered left and right, despite the fact that Ivan wasn't the only person to find his happy-go-lucky nature irritating and unsettling.

It was Alfreds charisma, of course. It had to be. Just like the boy always knew how to dodge, or otherwise escape, trouble. Whether it be to shine his winning smile at a teacher while he spun a thinly disguised lie, after which any teacher would turn the other way, or it be to act repentant or tragic enough to earn the teacher's sympathy, Alfred always knew what to do when he was put on the spot, and he could do whatever was required well. If he wanted too, Alfred could star in the school plays, like his sister had.

Mere seconds after Alfred seemed surely on the brink of bursting into tears, Alfred and his group would be laughing with one another, or playing an impromptu game of catch with a wadded up piece of paper (Alfred was also very athletic, though he never joined any teams, despite their gym teacher's prompting) seemingly without a care, and portraying the very essence of camaraderie.

Even before the fire, Ivan has never really been all that easy-going. Alfred moves through life with an ease that Ivan envies.

Ivan first notices Alfred's absence at breakfast, which was notably quieter without Alfred or his loud, obnoxious Demon anywhere near., but at first Ivan thinks nothing of it. Alfred almost always eats breakfast at school when he's present, but he's also out often-playing "Hookie," as Ivan's Language Arts teacher would say-four, five times a year.

In fact, it isn't until Ivan hears Alfred's usual group whispering worriedly that Ivan caught wind of something amiss. Apparently, none of them had seen Alfred since Saturday. Which worried them, because Alfred was always talking about running away one day, and he was just stupid and naive enough to do it.

_That's_ when Ivan realizes it.

Alfred was the thief.

Alfred and his Shoulder Demon are both pretty dense when it comes to basic survival, but Alfred's Angel, though quiet and polite, would have tried his hardest to convince Alfred not to run. If he'd had any sense (and Ivan felt that Alfred's Angel was the only one among those three who did) Alfred's Angel would have argued that Alfred would need supplies, money. Things Alfred wouldn't be able to take from his own family.

Alfred's family fell on the low end of the neighborhoods wealth spectrum, and all their money was stored online, anyway.

Ivan's family, on the other hand, was conveniently placed near Alfred's house, and was notorious for being one of the richest in the neighborhood, as well as, thanks to Ivan's mother, big spenders.

Ivan could see Alfred justifying a theft under these circumstances, much like Ivan himself had justified candy thefts in his old town.

After school, Ivan goes into his room, gathers his collected allowance, and packs.

He knows where Alfred is going. By the end of the day, the whole school was practically buzzing about how Alfred F. Jones had run away from home to live with his sister in the city.

New York city isn't actually all that far away by bus or car, but the trick, for a kid, is getting on a bus by themselves without causing suspicion.

Tonight, Ivan would call his mother and ask her if he could visit Dedushka this week, while being unclear about the day.

Then he'd tell his grandfather that he'd gotten permission to see Dedushka, he'd do his homework on the bus, and be back around ten.

Ivan's grandfather would comply, drive Ivan to the bus station, and see him onto the bus.

Ivan would go, visit Dedushka, maybe watch one of those new movies in theaters. Trick or treat, if he had to stay as long as Halloween.

And wait for Alfred to reach the city.

**My thank-yous for the day are: **

**Thankyou for reviewing, and welcome to my story, kassydaPJgeek14.**

**BitterSweet Crazy, Thank-you once more, and I'm not really going to explain it in too much detail, but, in essence, dream-walking (which is what he was, unwillingly, doing when he visited Oliver) takes a lot out of him, and he needs to recover.**

**pastaaddict, Thank-you for reviewing again, you're wonderful. And he entertained ideas of revenge for a short while, and he felt that the ruler of Headquarters would be the one most directly responsible for his daughter's fate.**

***This chapter has been edited, but please mention any mistakes you might have noticed.**

**~Serena**


	10. Chapter Nine: Checking Up On Arthur

**Okay, so this is such a short, and I do mean **_**short**_**, filler chapter that I thought 'What the heck' and decided to feed you people two chapters today.**

Chapter Nine; Checking Up On Arthur

Arthur can feel the tug of consciousness. The long, cold fingers are dragging him away from bliss, and he fights them off. He wants to sleep a while longer, that's all.

**Also, Thank-you to my guest reviewer (Of course I'd mention you, Dearest) and that's the end of my list. But, again, I last updated three hours ago.**

**~Serena**


	11. Chapter Ten: Waiting

**Told you I'd be here again today. You'll be getting another chapter in a few, too. Maybe even a third within half an hour. But I'm afraid that, after that, it's probably going to be it until monday. As I said, I'm doing most of my typing at school.**

**Also, this story is now on the same chapter on both here and Wattpad.**

Chapter Ten; Waiting

It is late Monday night, and Arthur had been asleep for 48 hours. Matthew is keeping watch on Arthur nearby, Alfred snoring rather loudly from a yellow tube-slide away. Tonight, they are staying in the park closest to the edge of the suburb, and Matthew is beginning to wonder what they would do once they got past the town.

They can't go on a bus, since the only buses nearby that go to NYC are farther into the suburb, and were usual pretty strict about making sure minors had parental or guardian permission before boarding. This was because of an incident where a seven-year-old with a bus pass (his mother took him into the city enough to warrant one) ended up boarding a bus leaving earlier than the bus his mother was going on, and caused a general panic.

The only other viable options, then, were biking, walking, or hitchhiking. Since Alfred hadn't been able to bring his bike (his mother was always saying that she would get it fixed, but for one reason or another it had never happened) Matthew assumes that Alfred means to hitchhike. How he planned on succeeding in that endeavor, Matthew wasn't sure, but before he can contemplate that matter more deeply, he is distracted by movement in the corner of his eye.

"He's stirring," he says, turning to Francis, who hurries over.

But by the time Francis reaches the place where they had set Arthur down, Arthur is already back under the thick blanket of unconsciousness.

Francis decides to stay near Arthur anyway.

"I'll take over from here, Matthew," He says. "I won't be sleeping either way, but you should try practicing it. If you start off sleeping regularly early on, you'll probably never need to sleep very long."

Matthew hesitates, meaning to protest, but not able to bring himself to do it.

'Go on," Francis insists. "Gilbert's already managed it."

Finally, Matthew nods, and leaves, knowing that the Frenchman only wants to be left alone.

**My thank-you for today is to kassydaPJgeek14. Here you are, more, as requested.**

**~Serena**


	12. Chapter Eleven:Arthur Decides to Wake Up

**See? Another short little chapter, just for you people! And lazy little Arthur has finally decided to do something, too. Aren't you lucky!**

Chapter Eleven; Arthur Decides to Wake Up

Arthur still doesn't want to wake up. He's no longer tired, he simply doesn't feel like leaving the cozy abyss of his mind. It's peaceful there, and he never has to worry about Francis, or the future. Sure, sometimes he'll hear strange voices, and those memories would always haunt him, but if he stays here, then at least he won't add more fuel to that flame.

But, at the same time, he knows that he has to leave. The world isn't ready to let him go just yet. Maybe later, if one of the other promising Angels earn the title "Hand of Heaven," he will be allowed eternal rest. Or, at the very least, retirement, so that he can visit his relatives, his brothers, sisters, cousins, and their descendents, as well as his friends, and his more enjoyable past assignments, more often. Or be allowed to see the revolting thing once known as Alice Kirkland more than once a vacation.

For now, though, he has to wake up.

**A Thank-You in advance to all those who are going to review from now until Monday.**

**~Serena**


	13. Chapter Twelve:Arthur Gets Up (Finally)

**A note on the setting: Obviously, Hetalia, New York is, to the best of my knowledge, a fictional suburb in New York. However, Hammond, New York is, actually, a real place. A small town/village I lived in when I was in Pre-K, Kindergarten, and the first half of first grade, and I was stuck for street names. **

**Also, how do people feel about me writing a prequel-type story expanding upon Arthur's past, both his life, and his time with Alice?**

Chapter Twelve; Arthur Gets His Lazy Arse Up (Finally)

It is morning, and Alfred wants to get moving again.

"Just a minute," says Francis, picking up Arthur yet again. He was getting used to this. It isn't so bad, Arthur being asleep. Of course, Francis still wants Arthur to wake up. Life wouldn't be the same without Arthur yelling at him every few minutes. Son petit lapin was so cute when he was angry. That was half the reason Francis always teased him, though he hadn't, actually, intended to bring Alice up. But he'd already been half done when he'd realized realized that he was bringing her up, and then he'd _had_ to finish, no matter how it would hurt Arthur. Again, though, Arthur's sleeping state was not without example, Francis could actually touch Arthur's soft skin for a span of longer than five seconds. He wouldn't do anything _too_ lecherous while Arthur was asleep, of course, especially with a ten-year-old so near. But the fact remained that, had Arthur been awake, Francis wouldn't have been able to stay within a (human) inch of Arthur for more than ten seconds without being hit, and not more than five without being yelled at.

"Frog! Put me _down_!" Arthur struggles, trying to get out of the Frenchman's grip, which was rather gentle, but very secure, and tightened momentarily with Francis's surprise. He had woken up to the Frog's face again, and this time he wasn't too exhausted to care. Or do something about it.

"As you wish." The Demon smirks, and Arthur realizes his mistake as Francis drops his arms, and he begins to fall. Luckily, he realizes this quickly, and opens his wings before he can gain too much momentum.

"Bastard!" Arthur spits as he begins to straighten himself out. "I didn't tell you to drop me, you bloody wanker!"

Francis simply smiles. It feels good to have Arthur back. "I could carry you again, if you want."

"No thank you," Arthur retorts. "I think you've done enough."

"Thank goodness you're awake," Matthew says, moving to help Arthur with the more difficult back feathers. "I can't handle those three on my own."

"Now, Matthie, don't be mad," says Alfred, who is amused by the whole scene. "I was going to do this anyway, with _or_ without Francis and Arthur."

The Canadian mutters something along the lines of "stubborn brat." Though, of course, that's not what he actually said. What he said was a bit milder than that. But he _meant_ stubborn brat, and that's what counts.

Alfred starts walking, and they all follow him, which makes it even harder for Arthur to straighten himself out. Eventually, though, with Matthew's help, he manages it, and sits down on Alfred's right shoulder.

"Where are we, then?" He asks Alfred.

"Do you mean our general position on earth, or where specifically in relation to my home and/or desired destination?" Alfred asks as a reply. After all, what does he know about Headquarters, and the information that Angels and Demons may or may not be told about their assignments.

'Oh… Both, I suppose." Arthur answers. He'd guessed that Alfred was American, and from what he'd seen of the neighborhood, he felt justified in concluding that they were in an American suburb, but he'd never been here before. He'd also been _told_ that he was being assigned to a ten-year-old running away from home in New York, but Headquarters was, on occasion, known to get things wrong and, regardless, he had no idea of how much he'd missed while he was asleep.

"Hetalia, New York. A rich, decent-sized suburb around New York City." (It's the private joke of it's residents that they are just far enough from the city to avoid most of the smog, but close enough that, if you need to get to your work in the city at eight in the morning, you don't have to get up at four. At least, not quite four.) "And, specifically, approximately a two days winding walk from 221, Hammond Rd. Which, up until two days ago, was my place of residence. Also, around lunch I plan to have reached a gas station, from which I will hitchhike to New York City."

Arthur doesn't like that. There are all sorts of unsavory characters out there, and he should know. "I don't suppose I could convince you to simply go back home?" he says doubtfully. But he's already making plans to make sure that, if Alfred _is_ stupid enough to insist on hitchhiking, then at the very least he doesn't hitchhike with anyone of malicious intent. If he couldn't do _that_ much with his powers, then what good were they? (It may be important to note that crime hasdecreased exponentially in many countries after it was made legal for Shoulder Spirits to bear witness, and persecute. No longer is the "simple" solution to getting away with something to murder the witnesses. For this reason, although one _should_ still be wary of strangers, the world is thought to be a less dangerous place. Naturally, Arthur knows better than anyone that laws and punishments don't matter to some, but I think that Arthur can safely steer Alfred away from anyone like that.)

"Not a chance."

**Thank-you's are to kassydaPJgeek14, and pastaaddict, and the same as last chapter. **

**(pastaadict: Yes, it does seem as though circumstances are closing in around Alfred, but right now I think that things will turn out alright in the end. I may change my mind, though. It's still pretty early in the plot.)**


	14. Chapter Thirteen: An Encounter

**Hello, my pretties. I meant to update yesterday, but I hadn't the time. I think I **_**will**_** right that prequel, but **_**after**_** I'm finished with this story. Also, are you guys having trouble keeping the country identities of my named characters strait? I could tell you their identities if you are. (All named characters have been assigned a country by moi. All unnamed ones are OCs.)**

Chapter Thirteen; An Encounter in the Hospital

"Hello, devushka. What's your name?"

Ivan catches his breath as the little girl looks up. Her eyes, soft blue, with just a hint of lilac, look just like Dedushka's had. It had been a long time since he'd seen eyes like those, even in the mirror. He had inherited Babushka's eyes. She smiles, pushing back her long, beige-blond hair, and says, "Anya."

Then she goes back to playing with the matryoshka dolls she'd had with her, scolding them like misbehaving children.

The matryoshka dolls were what had caught Ivan's attention in the first place. He'd been here many times before, but he'd never seen another who looked as though they might be Russian, and certainly never this little girl.

But then again, it was midday. If he'd come with his mother, he might be in Dedushka's room, out shopping, or eating lunch at this time, but not here, in the waiting room.

"That's a nice name, mine's Ivan," Ivan says, sitting down next to her. After a short period of silence, he asks, "What are you playing?"

"Happy family," Anya replies, reaching for another doll. Opening it, she pulls out a miniature dress, just the right size for an Angel or Demon, and copying the style of a traditional Lithuanian dress. For a moment, Ivan wonders if he might have been a little off about her origins. But just then, she hands the dress to a girl who is obviously her Angel, and he sees that the dress is patterned after the intended wearer's origins, not Anya's. "Daina, dear, be a good girl and put this on."

The Angel looks resigned. It seems as though she has been told to do this before. Sighing, she slips under Anya's large pink coat, presumably to change. Anya's Demon, Nikolai. is eyeing Ivan apprehensively, seemingly protective of Anya. Natalya eyes Nikolai back, and the two have a good stare.

Ivan ignores them both. "Are you waiting for someone?"

Anya nods, and begins to fidget with her long, modest, blue dress. "Starshiy bratik, Dmitri. He's meeting with the doctor about my medication. He doesn't think it's working."

"Why not?" Ivan's curious, and talking with this little girl is as good a way to pass the time waiting for Alfred as any. He could visit Dedushka, but there's only so much you can do while visiting someone who's comatose, and there will be plenty of time.

"Anya?" a voice calls, and Ivan looks up to see someone who looks to be Ukrainian walk in from the doctor's side of the hospital. Could this be the older brother? Well, Ivan supposed they could be step, or half, siblings. "Are you still in here?"

"I'm here, bratik." Anya says. "I told you I'd stay put. I'd have preferred going with you, though. I would have gone after you if you'd taken longer."

The young man, who must be Dmitri, notices Ivan. "She didn't bother you, did she? She's usually very hostile to those who aren't family."

"No. Actually, I found her quite charming."

Dmitri looks thoughtful, and not a little grateful. "Maybe her medicine_ is _having some effect. Or maybe it was a miracle, one-time incident. Anya, say goodbye to the nice boy. I'm sure he has other business here."

"Do svidaniya, Ivan!" Anya says, picking up her coat. Presumably, Daina is in a pocket. As she leaves, Ivan catches her talking to Dmitri. "He was nice, and polite. And he spoke Russian, Dmitri! I miss Russian. Mama used to speak lot's of Russian…"

Etcetera, Etcetera. Ivan smiled. She really was a cute kid. Then he leaves. Now that she was gone, he had nothing better to do than visit Dedushka. At least for now. Tomorrow, though, he would begin his search in earnest.

**kassydaPJgeek14, I will most certainly keep going.**

**BitterSweetCrazy, I appreciate your input and will follow your advice.**

**pastaaddict, I think you are absolutely correct, because I did too. Alfred just decided to follow through.**


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Kiku Honda

**It seems as though, recently, I've been writing this story for four people. BitterSweet Crazy, kassydaPJgeek14, pastaaddict, and myself. And I'm **_**not **_**complaining. I am honestly grateful, though I'd like to add more people to that list. So this chapter is dedicated to my three recently constant reviewers. Enjoy!**

Chapter Fourteen; Kiku Honda

Kiku sits in his large, crowded bedroom, thinking. Tomorrow, it will be Halloween. If he's good, Yao might give him candy. Maybe even set up a trick-or-treat LARP in the great hall.

But Kiku doesn't care about that, and it doesn't really matter how good he is, because he's not going to get what he wants. He didn't even have a computer, on the off chance that he might end up on social media, Facebook, or Email, or anything that would allow him to communicate with the outside world. Yao was absolutely firm on that rule. He wouldn't even allow an exception for roleplay, though on occasion Yao or Xiao Mei had one of the others print out fanfiction, fanart, or other internet articles that he picked, under close supervision, on the one computer in the building. Kiku kept them all in various scrapbooks and folders.

Since they went to such lengths to keep him from talking to others behind a screen, where none would see his… peculiarity, there was no way Yao would let him actually go trick-or-treating. It would undermine Yao's whole goal of keeping Kiku's identity from the outside world.

That wasn't to say that Kiku was completely isolated. Of course he couldn't be allowed a personal computer, or even unlimited computer access. Even with "parental" controls, there would be far too many security issues, too much room for Kiku to find his way to a roleplay or bizarre media site. From there, even if Kiku didn't mean to try to bring his identity to light, there was too much penchant for error. But Kiku had been with them since he was an infant, after the week waiting period had passed, and it became apparent that Kiku would _not_ be receiving Shoulder Spirits, so they'd had to keep him, at the very least, learned, and entertained.

Through his various televisions, vcrs, radios, and gaming systems (browsing was, naturally, completely blocked, with a new password every week) anime, music, YouTube, TV shows, video games, cartoons, ebooks, audio books, and movies are made available to him. Books, Manga, and other various material things are also sent to occupy him, arriving in amounts that would hardly seem possible, unless you knew that they had access to the world's wealth.

Largely left to himself when he was younger, Kiku has developed an eclectic taste, and can often be seen going from intently studying a college textbook on psychology to happily playing Assassins Creed, or re-watching Disney's The Lion King. His favorite means of entertainment, though, is usually asian, a sign of both his nationality, Japanese, and the nationalities of the others. Through some fluke, almost all of them were of asian heritage.

However, Kiku does not merely watch and enjoy the shows he watched, or simply read the books he read. He is a devout fanboy. Naturally, he has few opportunities to play any sort of active role in his Fandoms. He isn't online, and Cons are simply out of the question. Kiku wouldn't even think to bring it up. He is very dedicated, though, and thanks to the aforementioned wealth, he never has any problems acquiring any sort of fandom materials, such as posters, cosplays, or other merchandise. And he certainly never has problems finding time to binge-watch, or getting permission to paint strange symbols on his room. From books, he knows of the outside world, and knows that he is much better off than most.

Although... he _would_ have liked someone to talk too. At least, someone capable of speech and, most importantly, _alive_. His pets are nice, he supposes, the rabbits, kittens, and puppies that romped around in the building are especially kawaii, and the more exotic creatures in the underground garden/greenhouse/enclosure are magnificent. But he still longs for human companionship.

Of course, if Yao, Wang Jia Long, or the others could be believed, _he_ isn't exactly human. He's God. Or would be, in three years, when he turned thirteen.

The others were all God, too. Or rather, previous Gods. Except, maybe, Yao. Near as Kiku can figure, the fluctuation of God status helps ensure that the person in charge was suitably adapted to the times of their generation, and helps minimize corruption. Yao had tried to explain it to him, once, but Kiku hadn't paid much attention. All he really knows is that, on his thirteenth birthday, a ceremony will transfer the status of God over to him, along with the collected experience of all the previous Gods. After that, he will perform the duties of God until thirteen years after death, when it will be passed on to the next God.

Presumably, once he is God, he will be permitted to do as he pleased, including contact the outside world. Naturally, by then he'd have responsibilities to attend to, and he'd hardly be allowed to enjoy it. Besides, judging by the way the others would slide away from the topic whenever he brought it up, Kiku had a sneaking suspicion that, even then, he wouldn't be able to meet people face-to-face, or divulge his identity.

He isn't mistreated. Most people would find his life a dream come true. Some would gladly switch places with him, if they were asked. Many would.

But Kiku just wants to meet other people. To go to Cons, and roleplay online, and read Fanfiction without intense supervision. To try his hand at writing Fanfiction himself, and see what others think of it.

If he'd only had Shoulder Spirits, none of these would be a problem. But the identity of God, and the way in which the ruling of Headquarters worked, is a closely guarded secret. Obviously, if he _were_ to go to Cons, his absence of Shoulder Spirits would be looked upon with suspicion, unless he happened to cosplay someone without Shoulder Spirits, and even then, his complete lack might be noticed. If he's lucky, he might get to become someone else's Shoulder Spirit, after he is no longer God. But none of the others that Kiku knows of had, and if someone noticed that no one had been assigned to him in life, the cat would be out of the bag, so to speak, and his identity would be compromised.

So, that isn't going to happen. He is never going to be allowed to fully contact the greater world, and Kiku knows this. He didn't let on that he knew, though, because it was simpler to let the others, Yao and the previous Gods, think that they are successfully deceiving them. For them to think that he is content to wait to contact living, breathing human beings until his thirteenth birthday.

He isn't, though, and he won't wait. In fact, as we watch him, he is hatching plans to have a real Halloween this year.

A simple enough task, really, if only he knew where he is located on earth. He doesn't, of course, though he'd probably be able to guess if his home wasn't so far below ground. He has learned enough languages that he would still be able to communicate, wherever he is, and he feels confident that he can blend in with the culture of most first world countries. but it's important to know how close he is to a city. If he's going to get out, he has to be near a city.

A city would mean lots of people to get lost in, and hide among. And a throng of Shoulder Spirits, so a cursory glance would not allow anyone to immediately notice his lack thereof.

You'd think, knowing how extensive the reach of Headquarters is, Kiku would hope, instead, to be as far from all Spirits as possible. But Kiku also knows that Yao won't rely on the Spirits to find him, unless it gets really close to his thirteenth birthday, and finding him takes precedence over keeping him secret. How could he, if no one knows of Kiku's existence? And even if he did alert them, simply as a missing boy, they would wonder at his interest, and if he was found by them, it would mean his discovery. No, the only people looking for him would be Yao, and maybe the other previous Gods.

He's alone, and he isn't being watched. He knows he's not, because he's very careful about finding any cameras or microphones, and he'd learned how to dismantle them when he was six. Even so, he's careful not to do anything suspicious, even in the relative privacy of his room. The others can flit in without any notice at any time.

He'd already decided to cosplay Ayato Naoi, from Angel Beats. Since Angel Beats took place in a world where everyone was dead and, therefore, didn't have Shoulder Spirits, it was the perfect choice for someone who didn't have any either, and wanted to disguise it. Surly, any truly devout cosplayer would hide or disguise their Spirits when cosplaying a character who didn't have any. Besides, he wouldn't really need a wig for Ayato, since their hairstyles were similar.

He will leave in an hour. After lunch, which is late today. Yao will be leaving for a meeting after that, and will be gone until tomorrow. With a little luck, the others wouldn't realize that it was his life-sized Kirito re-watching the second season of Sword Art Online (which he'd gotten early, courtesy of his aforementioned wealth (He often muses that no previous God was ever such a big spender.)) rather than he himself.

He gets up and takes off his stiff, white uniform, which was his daily outfit, and prepares to take a bath. After, he will put on a fresh uniform to eat lunch, then come back to his room to grab the large, black pre-prepared satchel, which is styled so as to not clash with either his uniform or his Ayato cosplay. And, finally, he will head up the old stairs, which he doesn't think the others no of, since it's not locked up, and is in considerable disrepair. From there he will, hopefully, find his way out.

**And the plot thickens. Kinda-sorta. Maybe? I've added another character, at any rate. And it looks as though I might be on schedule updating the Halloween chapter on the actual day.**

**BitterSweet Crazy: I thought I'd made that clear, but here you are; Ivan **_**is**_** fourteen, and and a couple grades higher than Alfred. But he's also Alfred's neighbor, so he can't be completely oblivious to him. And he's jealous of how easily Alfred seems to make friends and his charisma. And Alfred's going to New York City. **

**pastaaddict: Right on the dot, as usual. Don't worry too much, though. Alfred's fast, and Ivan's a country boy at heart. I think that Alfred will be able to successfully dodge Ivan when they meet.**

**kassydaPJgeek14: Sorry you thought it was confusing. Could you please give me some input as to how? If you do, it will help when I go on another editing streak, and maybe I can clear a bit of it up for you.**

**~Serena**


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Hitchhiking

**Hello, again. Gosh, I feel so loved. Six more reviews! The Heavenly choir rejoices. Also, I did receive confirmation that some of you would like a character list, so here they are by chapter introduced.**

**Chapter One:**

**America/USA-Alfred F. Jones-One of the main character/adventurers.**

**Canada-Matthew Williams-Alfred's Shoulder Angel.**

**Prussia-Gilbert Beismidt-Alfred's Shoulder Demon.**

**England/UK-Arthur Kirkland-Alfred's new Shoulder Angel. Hand of Heaven.**

**France-Francis Bonnefoy-Alfred's New Shoulder Demon. Fist of Hell.**

**Nyo!America-Amelia(Emily) F. Jones-Alfred's older sister.**

**Chapter Two:**

**Germany-Ludwig-Son of Gilbert's last assignment. Like a brother to him.**

**Nyo!Germania-Haldis-Gilbert's last Assignment. Dead. Mentioned in passing. Name changed from Monika (who would have been Nyo!Germany) because I now have other plans for her.**

**Ancient Rome-Romulus Vargas-Haldis' Shoulder Angel. The Vargas Twin's paternal grandfather.**

** -Feliciano Vargas-Ludwig's Shoulder Angel.**

** /Romano-Lovino Vargas-Ludwig's Shoulder Demon. **

**Spain-Antonio Fernandez Carriedo-Current owner of Ludwig's old house.**

**Austria-Roderich Edelstein-Antonio's Shoulder Demon.**

**Hungary-Elizaveta Hedervary Edelstein-Antonio's Shoulder Angel.**

**Chapter Four:**

**Russia-Ivan Braginsky-One of the main characters/adventurers. Alfred's minted neighbor.**

**Poland-Feliks**

**Lithuania-Toris Laurinaitis-One of Ivan's Shoulder Angels.**

**Belarus-Natalya Arlovskaya-One of Ivan's Shoulder Demons.**

**Ukraine-Katyusha Chernenko-One of Ivan's Shoulder Angels.**

**Latvia-Raivis Galante-Ivan's mother's Shoulder Angel.  
Estonia-Eduard Von Bock-Ivan's mother's Shoulder Demon.**

**Chapter Six:**

**2p!England-Oliver Kirkland-Not entirely sure **_**what**_** he is yet, but let's settle for Arthur's personal Demon.**

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**Nyo!Russia-Anya Braginsky-Little girl Ivan talks to in the hospital waiting room and (it's not really relevant yet, and might not ever be unless I am visited by a stroke of genius) his cousin, on his father's side, and daughter of his crazy aunt (who is dead and he doesn't know about, and so doesn't know that Anya is his cousin.) Anya inherited her mother's illness.**

**Nyo!Lithuania-Daina Laurinaitis-Anya's Shoulder Angel.**

**Nyo!Belarus-Nikolai Arlovskaya-Anya's Shoulder Demon.**

**Nyo!Ukraine-Dmitri Chernenko-Anya's older brother.**

**(Also, I didn't name or mention them, but Dmitri's Spirits would be Nyo!Latvia and Nyo!Estonia)**

**Chapter Fourteen:**

**Japan-Kiku Honda-Future God. One of the main character/adventurers.**

**China-Wang Yao-Puppethead leader of Headquarters, Guardian of the Gods, and Kiku's main mentor.**

**Taiwan-Xiao Mei-One of the previous Gods.**

**Hong Kong-Wang Jia Long-One of the previous Gods.**

**Chapter Fifteen(This Chapter):**

**Greece-Heracles Karpusi-Frascuelo's Shoulder Angel. His mother's cousin (Frascuelo's mother's mother's brother's son.)**

**Turkey-Sadik Adnan-Frascuelo's Shoulder Demon. His father's brother.**

**Cyprus-Frascuelo Garcia(After his parent's divorced, he took his mother's maiden name)-Nice young man who's going to give Alfred a lift. Is tired of his Spirits fighting.**

**Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus-Martino Adnan-Frascuelo's younger half-brother through his father. Lives in Turkey, but they maintain a close relationship.**

**Wow, **_**that**_** was exhausting. Anyway, whenever I add a new named character, I'll give their identities before the chapter starts in that chapter.**

Chapter Fifteen; Hitchhiking

They'd reached the gas station. Arthur having fiercely tried to change Alfred's decision the whole way, despite being told that it would be no use.

"For the love of the Queen, don't be daft, boy. You've been gone long enough, people are probably already waiting for you in New York City. Hitchhiking is a dodgy plan under any circumstances. You shouldn't take a risk like hitchhiking when it will all be for not, anyway."

"Regardless, whether I should or not, I'm going to do it. And it will go much more smoothly if you just shut up!"

"Fine! Prolong your so-called 'freedom' for a little while longer! But I guarantee that the second you find yourself at your sisters, you'll find yourself worse off than before."

For a second, he feels an uncomfortable sense of deja-vu as he realizes that the speech he'd just given bore an uncanny resemblance to a young revolutionary soldier who'd gone off to fight in the Revolutionary War. It had galled him to be the Spirit of a soldier on a side opposing Britannia. But that was past, and he was being distracted by the present.

"You're not actually going to your sister's, are you? At least, not any time soon."

He speaks slowly, softly. Almost defeated. He'd also sensed Alfred's determination. Just like the soldier.

Matthew is dismayed. He'd suspected, but he'd hoped it wasn't so. If Arthur was mentioning it, though, he had to except that it was.

Meanwhile, Alfred is indignant, and bursts out, "No fair! Mind-reading shouldn't be allowed."

Arthur sighs. it's a typical reaction, especially among youths going through puberty, or close to puberty. They're right, of course. They deserve privacy. That's why Angel's weren't encouraged to rely on their supernatural senses. _His _circumstances were… unusual. "I apologize. I can't help it. But you're still being right dim, and irresponsible."

"So what? You can't do anything about it. I'm _not_ changing my mind."

Even Gilbert is decidedly less enthusiastic now that he knows that Alfred doesn't plan on going to his sister's. But he knows that Alfred means what he says about them not being able to do anything about it. Once Alfred decides to do something, he sticks to it, and arguing only makes him more secure in his position. In that way, he's a Spirit's worst nightmare, since their only power is arguing.

"How about a compromise?"

Francis is surprised by Arthur's willingness to suggest a compromise. Arthur is, after all, quite stubborn in his own right. Of course, under normal circumstances, Arthur _wouldn't_ have compromised. But he could sense what Gilbert knew; that arguing would only make things worse.

Alfred is understandably wary. The Brit's manner had changed quite abruptly, from unyielding to cooperative. "What sort of compromise?"

"Continue with your plans for… oh, a week, I suppose. That ought to give you ample time to use your stolen goods and enjoy your freedom. After that, I won't make you go home, but at least check in with your sister. But trust my judgement of people, and let me tell you who to hitchhike with. And no more stealing. Once you're supplies are through, find a way to _earn_ money, or go home. Not everyone's as minted as your neighbors were, and even if they are, you'll find they notice more than you'd think."

"And if I don't?" Alfred asks haughtily. He knows he has the upper hand, or thinks he does.

"Then I'll tell every person you go near that you're a runaway. And you won't be able to find anyone willing to take you to New York City knowing that you're a runaway, unless they want to do unspeakable things to you." Arthur is matter-of-fact. And he plans on pulling through. If Alfred has even a lick of sense, he'll concede to the terms. He didn't ask much, and granted him a decent chunk of freedom. And Alfred knows now that Arthur can, indeed, make it very difficult for him to go through with his plans.

"Alright, you win. I'll do it. Why, though?"

"If you_ are_ to do something so dangerous, irresponsible, and immoral, it's my duty to, if I cannot stop you, make sure that you do it safely. Redemption is still a possibility, as long as you're alive." The last bit Arthur says bitterly, which is understandable. But he tries not to dwell on his thoughts very long. "Will we get it over with, then?"

Alfred changes into the pair of clothes he'd kept clean for this eventuality, then enters the gas station, and hangs around in the candy aisle, portraying shyness.

"Who should I try?" he mumbles to Arthur under his breath.

Arthur glances around. The old man in the corner is local, and doesn't like kids. The woman at the counter wouldn't have the patience to listen to Alfred's plea. But the man on his cellphone is heading to NYC, and likes kids. In fact, he's on the phone with his younger half-brother right now. And his Spirits, both related to him, one an uncle on his father's side, the other a first cousin once removed on his mother's side, are too busy with a sort of family feud/complicated relationship to hinder much of his decisions.

"The one on the cell phone. Wait a bit, though, don't interrupt him."

Alfred ignores the last bit, moving to the man. He's eighteen, maybe twenty, with shaggy hair cut longer on his right side, and a plain earring in his left ear. He doesn't notice Alfred for a bit, though, continuing to talk on the phone.

"I'll visit if I can, Martino, but Turkey's a long way away, and I don't have much money… I know, but ever since the divorce… Yeah, hang on a second, could you?"

The man looks at Alfred. "Yes?"

Alfred's been waiting for this. "After you're done, could I borrow your cell-phone, please? My family accidently left me here a while ago, and I need to make sure they notice."

"How'd they leave you?" The man is suspicious, as is only natural, but Alfred has prepared for this eventuality.

"We're a big family, and I'm the middle child. We don't usually travel so far, but we're visiting my grandparents in New York City for Halloween, 'cause my new brother's due on that day. We stopped here for a bathroom break, but they wouldn't have done a headcount, since we're in a hurry."

Alfred should win an Oscar, and the fact that all of his Spirits are nodding along adds credit to the story.

"Martino, I'll call you back later, Ok?" The man puts his phone away. "What's your name?"

"Alfred. Yours?"

"Frascuelo. You ever heard the expression 'don't talk to strangers'?"

Alfred nods. "But I have to call my family."

"I'll grant that, but you have to be careful. I'll let you call your parents, and I'll even stay with you until they come get you. Not everyone would be so nice."

Alfred nods, and accepts the phone. He puts in his sister's number, since she'd be in class anyway. "Mom? Hi, yeah, I'm at that gas station where Jeanie wet her pants… I know that was a while ago, but I was hoping you'd notice quickly. You're already at the city? I'm sorry. Oh, someone let me borrow their cellphone… Sure, I'll ask him."

He looks to Frascuelo. "Could you drive me to Central Park? It'll take as long to wait for my mom to pick me up as to drive me to her."

Frascuelo is hesitant. But he has to get to New York City, too, and if the kid's mother would be alright with it… well, _he_ knew that he didn't have any malicious intent. "Sure, kid."

"He'll do it. 'Kay, bye!" Alfred presses stop, and hands Frascuelo back his phone. If his sister checks her messages, it won't mean anything, because they have a mutual agreement that fake phone calls can be made to each other.

Arthur is impressed with Alfred's acting skill, but feels that he needn't seem too stupid. "Just a second," he says, looking at Frascuelo. "Could you please have your Angel vouch for you?"

Frascuelo is glad that this naive little kid isn't completely helpless and trusting. "Certainly. Heracles, Sadik, stop fighting for once." Honestly, those two were worse than cats and dogs. Or oil and water. They couldn't go three seconds without fighting, unless Heracles was asleep or with a cat, and then Sadik would still try to fight.

"Yes, Frascuelo?" Heracles can guess that he's in need with something, because neither he nor Sadik had been physically fighting, which is usually the point were his peace-loving charge would break up the fight.

"Could you please vouch for me not being a serial killer or pedophile?"

"Yes. He's not." The last bit was to Arthur. Then, he yawns, and curls up on Frascuelo's shoulder. Sadik proceeds to yell at him, but he sleeps anyway.

Frascuelo rolls his eyes, and tells Alfred to come with him. Then they both sit in his car, and they drive to New York City.

**Thank You's to KaijinKyn, Luca20, BitterSweet Crazy, pastaaddict, kassydaPJgeek14, and yellowfreak32.**

**KaijinKyn: Yes, I love reviews. Nothing better in the world. I'm also grateful for the appreciation. And they **_**do, **_**don't they? Might get a little annoying after a while, though. I mean, you'd **_**never**_** be alone. That's also exactly what I was implying, but he's not the true master of headquarters yet. He has to wait three more years.**

**Luca20: Exactly correct. Actually, the place that he lives is underneath the city, and the exit is a presumably abandoned subway tunnel. You're right about Anya and Dmitri, but Dedushka's an OC, although I played around with the idea of him representing the good aspects of General Winter, with his grandfather on his mother's side representing the bad.**

**BitterSweet Crazy: You don't have to, but I do appreciate it. And I want to complete it too, so you're in luck. I hadn't either, though it sort of surprised me that it was so, since almost everyone seems to know the term "Angel on your shoulder" and it's been used in quite a bit of entertainment.**

**pastaaddict: I don't know about that, Kiku knows less than Arthur right now. In three years time, though… Yeah, he can probably help Arthur out.**

**kassydaPJgeek14: I'll look into the wording, but I hope the character list helped clear some things up.**

**yellowfreak32: So do I. Though I didn't remember that at the time that I wrote it. I just thought that Kiku would make a good Ayato cosplay.**


	17. Chapter Sixteen: A Day Of Waiting

**Hello, this is the last chapter until Halloween. I probably should have paced myself. So, yeah, come Halloween I'll be updating my special, Halloween chapter. It's part of the plot, though. And it's a decent size, so it ought to make up for the wait.**

Chapter Sixteen; A Day of Waiting

It's 3:00 PM, October 13th, in New York City. Frascuelo drops Alfred off in Central Park, and leaves when he sees Alfred talking to an older woman who is there with her grandkids, assuming that she was Alfred's grandmother, there with his siblings to wait for him.

A little while away, Kiku emerges from a seemingly abandoned subway station (Though it isn't a subway station, really) and is overjoyed to find himself in New York City. He quickly merges into the crowd, absorbing the sights, smells, and sounds of the city, eyes on the look out for a nook or cranny to sleep in until tomorrow. Tomorrow will be his day of freedom. After that, he can accept taking his old life back.

Not that much further, Ivan sit in his Dedushka's room. Calm. Reflective. Waiting.

Today, they are all waiting. Today is a day of waiting. But tomorrow these three will be out and about, trick-or-treating, as children do. Tomorrow is a day of action.

Today, though, we wait.

**Except that you people will be waiting until friday, because I'm posting my Halloween chapter on the day, and nothing's going to convince me to do otherwise.**

**Anyway, thank-you to Luca20, pastaaddict, BitterSweet Crazy, and kassydaPJgeek14. **

**Luca20: Your review was quite long already, but that's alright, because I adore long reviews. And I'm going to add lists of new characters at the ends of chapters from now on(Yes, you made sense) but since it was the first time I'd done the list, and I had just peered through all of my previous chapters to figure out which character's I'd introduced so far, so I just put them all in one place. What about people like Hitler? If you mean the insane/psychopaths/incredibly evil/infamous, and what happens to them after they die, then the answer is this; they still need to be monitored, so there's an entire branch of Heaven and Hell dedicated to providing the nearly irredeemable with Spirits during their life (Of course, they usually saddle Arthur with the worst cases) and after death they go through the standard aptitude evaluation. There are three results: Angel, Demon, and Unfit for Service. They usually get the last one, and from their Afterlife decides what they should do with them, depending on their personalities and the stability of their minds.**

**pastaaddict: I quite agree. Definitely **_**not**_** a good idea. Alfred would be toast without Arthur.**

**BitterSweet Crazy: It's really quite unavoidable at this point.**

**kassydaPJgeek14: Thank you, and I'm glad it helped!**

**~Serena**


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Halloween

**Okay, so I'm a little late. But, in my defence, this is a long chapter. A long chapter that I underestimated. It took forever to get it all typed up. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!**

Chapter Seventeen; Halloween

~Alfred~

Something clicks in Arthur's mind when Alfred emerges from the store bathroom dressed as Captain America.

"It's Samhain today?!" He asks, almost panicked. He hadn't even realized the proximity of the ancient festival night. It's presence, so close to a more powerful encounter with the voice, does not bode well.

"Huh?" Alfred is puzzled. "What's sow-un?"

"Halloween," Francis explains. He's used to Arthur's mannerisms. "I've been waiting for him to realize. He's a superstitious old fool."

"Old, I'll grant," Arthur retorts reluctantly. "And I suppose all who know the truth look superstitious to those who do not, just as those who do not know the truth seem blind to those who do. But my wariness of a day when world barriers thin is no folly."

"Is it true that _ghosts_ are stronger today?" Alfred asks, a bit nervously.

"Ghosts would be the least of my problems," Arthur says, not really answering the question. "They're usually relatively harmless. Even Echoes and Poltergeists must be exceptionally strong to cause any problems for the living on a given night. But Dark Fae, and other entities and creatures…" Arthur shudders. "Imps and Fair Folk love mischief, even if you _can't_ see them, and don't know of them. They're exceptionally fond of a more aware audience. But they're also afraid of them, because being seen makes them vulnerable, though only a little. They welcome the decline of those with sight."

"Those are just stories," Alfred says dismissively. "But ghosts are real. I'm more afraid of ghosts than I am of little fairies."

Matthew and Gilbert nod, though they both think that Alfred's fear of spirits tied to earth, rather than a person, is ridiculous.

Francis, on the other hand, chuckles. "Those 'stories' are very real to Arthur, and a few others as well. Though almost none have Sight as unlimited as his, as I've learned. Vladimir, the Head of Hell, has some limited Sight. He's managed to keep it after his death, too, like Arthur has, though many will lose it, or else find it slowly fading, after they are no longer alive."

"_I_, however, among other things, am constantly and forever plagued by supernatural creatures. Which makes life difficult at times, especially when around those unaware of my circumstances."

"O-kay. This is too weird for me." Alfred says as he exits the store. Then, he freezes. And with good reason. "Arthur?" He says haltingly, "Are you making me hallucinate?"

"Why?" Arthur is unsuspecting. He's too busy contemplating possible defences for the coming night. The locket was good, but perhaps a spell of concealment from fey? It hadn't worked last year, but maybe with a few tweaks to the wording…

"Because I could have sworn I just saw a neon green fairy fly past my face."

"Oh," Arthur says, looking up. He appears nonchalant, but secretly he's pleased to be able to be of use in a way that only he could. He glances up to see the pixie, who's a bit irritated at being called a fairy. "Actually, she's a pixie. You must have partial Sight. Have you never seen supernatural creatures before?"

"He hasn't as long as _I_ remember," says Matthew, "Are you sure he has the sight?"

He must, if he saw that pixie." Arthur says, matter-of-fact. Then adds, "Of course, his Sight may have been brought on by my proximity, or his learning of the reality of the Fair Folk. Even so, if he hasn't even seen them when he was really young, he must only have the sight around Samhain. That's not uncommon. And if he lived in a suburb his whole life, it's likely he was never even near any supernatural creatures to see. The Fae feel more at home in the country, but many, especially the predators, are fascinated by cities. Suburbs don't really interest the creatures either way."

"What should I do?" Alfred asks, eyes wide as he notices more and more impossible creatures.

"Ignore them," Arthur advises. "You're young, and you only have partial Sight. Unless you engage them, they should leave you alone, and might not even notice that you can see them."

"Don't be too sure about that, Arthur dear…"

Arthur feels a keen sense of dread at the sound of the voice. He'd known it was coming. It always came at Samhain. But it usually waited until nightfall. He looks around reflexively, to see if he can catch another glimpse of that mysterious face. But there's nothing. "Did you hear that, Alfred?"

"What?"

"Nothing." Arthur isn't surprised. Not even Alice had heard the voice. But he couldn't help asking. Sometimes, the voice makes him wonder whether or not he is truly sane.

~Ivan~

Ivan looks at the rack in what can almost be described as dread. He really shouldn't have waited until the last minute to buy a costume. He'd already been to five other stores, and none had had anything in his size, for his gender. This was the first time something even remotely acceptable had appeared.

"What on earth could possess someone to make and sell a sunflower costume for fourteen-year-olds?"

Feliks snickers. "I think you'd look, like, adorable in it." He was of polish descent, but had grown up in california, and talked like an airhead valley girl.

"And _you_ cross-dress," Natalya says, quick to champion Ivan. "Though, he _would_ look good in anything."

Ivan is uncomfortable with Natalya's obsession with him, though he _has_, on occasion, been grateful for her absolute loyalty.

Katyusha points to a costume that is _not_ appropriate, _not_ for his age group, and _definitely _not for his gender. "You could wear that one."

Ivan sighs, and reaches for the sunflower, not even dignifying _that_ suggestion with a response. Katyusha isn't as overbearing as her half-sister, but she can sure be dense about some things.

"Well, then," she pouts, "How about you just wear this?"

Ivan looks at her to see her pointing to a pair of white… bear ears? Actually, that wouldn't be to bad. It was a miracle, considering he'd been prepared for another ridiculous suggestion. It wasn't like he was dressing up because he wanted to, he just needed something so that he could technically state that he had a costume while he was out. It would have been better if he'd found something that would make him unrecognizable, at least at a distance, but beggars can't be choosers.

Besides, no one he knows is going to see him.

Well, except Alfred. But he probably wouldn't be a problem so far as teasing went.

~Kiku~

Kiku adjusts his hat, and wishes he'd thought to bring his red contacts. He'd been wishing for a lot of things lately. Like normal clothes. And cash.

He'd always worn his uniform when not cosplaying, hadn't given much thought to it. True, he has a tank top on under his jacket, but he feels uncomfortable wearing a tank top in public. Besides, being a New York autumn, it's cold.

And, obviously, he'd never had any need for cash. Not that it mattered, it would have been too suspicious if he'd asked for some.

At least he had food. Snacks were always available to him, and he'd thought to grab some before leaving.

He's beginning to realize, though, that he's really quite helpless in the outside world.

Even so, he's already here. He might as well have a proper Halloween.

~Time skip to Halloween night~

"Trick-or-treat!"

"There you go, sugar-plum."

The old woman drops a handful of ancient-looking, old-fashioned candies into Alfreds bag. Alfred knows that he'll probably toss these out later, but he smiles anyway, and says, "Thank-you!"

After they start on to the next apartment, Arthur says, "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it, Alfred?"

"What do you mean?"

"You just took candy from a ghost."

"What?!" Alfred drops his bag momentarily, though he quickly picks it up. "That old lady was-"

"No longer alive?" Arthur interrupts. "Yes, yes she was." Arthur's very casual, but he secretly enjoys having the upper hand on the stubborn boy. "Didn't you wonder why no one else was trick-or-treating there?"

"I just figured it was the ancient candy," Alfred retorts wryly.

"Oh, stop scaring the boy, Arthur," Francis admonishes without really attempting to make Arthur stop. He's glad Arthur feels at ease enough to tease Alfred, though he can tell that he's still jumpy. "He's explained his fear to you."

"And I'm trying to help him get over that irrational fear!" Arthur tries to defend himself. And he _is_, partly. As an afterthought. He's not very convincing, though.

"No, you're not," Matthew says, trying not to laugh. "You're having fun."

And Arthur is, though _that_ isn't the entire reason, either. He's mostly doing this to distract himself from the inevitability of an encounter with the owner of the voice. He'll never admit to anything but helping Alfred let go of his fear, though.

But before he can open his mouth to protest once more, Alfred is running after someone.

"Hey! Wait up!" Alfred's running after a ten-year-old boy, seemingly asian, wearing a black hat and jacket, with dark hair. The boy runs, but Alfred catches up to him quickly.

He's panicked, Arthur can tell. And there's something else… off, about him. Something Arthur can't put his finger on.

"Dude, you watch Angel Beats?" Alfred asks the boy, out of breath.

"Yes, that is correct." He's japanese, this boy. Arthur's sure now. He's also relieved, no longer panicked, but still anxious. It's puzzling.

"You make an awesome Ayato cosplay, you know. What other shows do you watch?"

"A few…"

"Alfred!" Matthew alerts Alfred with a panicked voice, pointing across the street. There, wearing white bear ears, is Ivan Braginsky, his stare seemingly sending out a dark aura. Alfred can feel his heart drop into his stomach. Ivan is glaring at him, and could only be here because he'd followed him into the city. Alfred had figured that Ivan's family wouldn't miss the money, or, even if they did, wouldn't be able to figure out that it was him. Evidently, he was wrong. And Ivan was infamous for holding a grudge.

"Come with me if you want to live." Alfred says, grabbing the boy's hand on impulse and running into a dark alley. Ivan hadn't been able to cross the street just then, but that would change quickly. They continue running, taking many twists, and doubling back a few times, until Alfred finally stops, and collapses into a wooden crate.

"What's your name?" He asks the boy, who he'd dragged with him.

He's hesitant, but, eventually, says, "Kiku."

Alfred smiles. "Well, Kiku, who watches Angel Beats, and a few other shows, I'm sorry for dragging you halfway across New York City."

"It's fine." Kiku can't really help the smile that spreads across his face, Alfred's natural charm and good-naturedness worming thier way into him.

"Will your parents be worried about you?" Alfred asks, getting up. "Personally, I'm a bit lost, but my parents are pretty cool. I can help you find your apartment, if you need it." He hopes that Kiku doesn't, since he'll probably end up getting them incredibly lost, but he still feels the need to offer. Besides, he can probably figure something out, if it's needed.

"That… won't be necessary. But thanks." Kiku studies this boy, dressed as Captain America, carrying a full backpack and a pillowcase full of candy. Luckily, Kiku had kept his candy in his satchel, so he hadn't dropped it in the rush. "What's _your_ name?"

"Alfred."

Kiku can't help warming up to Alfred, despite the fact that he really ought to get going before they realize he doesn't have Shoulder Spirits. Alfred has charisma, and he can't help but feel that if there's anyone who can help him survive in this greater world, it's this friendly, street-wise kid.

Arthur, for his part, hadn't been paying too much attention to Kiku, too preoccupied with wondering what the deal was with Alfred running off like that. The boy across the street _had_ been emitting a powerful lust for vengeance, though, so Arthur can only assume that Alfred has foolishly upset that Russian.

But now, he glances at Kiku, and again feels that sense of _wrongness_. Something is seriously off about this boy. It was such a profound feeling that Arthur can't help wondering how headquarters could permit such a thing.

Mere moments before he realizes everything, a second before the fact that Kiku has no Shoulder Spirits sinks in, and he discovers everything, he is distracted once more.

"Hello again, Arthur dearest." The voice whispers in his ear. "You wanted to get a good look at me?"

He jumps, turns, and the owner of the voice is there, grinning, strawberry-blond hair similar, but not quite like his own. Eyes the clearest blue, with faint rings of pink, showing innocent amusement, and a glimpse of something more. After the startling face, a sick, twisted image of his own, is something, perhaps, a little more disturbing. He-it _is_ a he, or seems to be-is dressed casually, a purple sweatervest over a light pink long-sleeved collared shirt, a blue bow tie that matches the color of his eyes, and jeans. His hands are in his pockets, and he's leaning casually against the alley wall. But once he thinks that Arthur's had a good look, he pushes himself off, and extends his right hand. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. Oliver Kirkland, at your service."

"What are you?" Arthur doesn't bother to shake the creature's hand, or to hide his disgust. "What do you want?"

"Nothing much." Oliver says, the very picture of innocence. "Just to talk. And maybe show you a few of my friends."

"Not interested." Arthur tries to go back to the others, but Oliver stops him, physically pulling him back.

"Don't leave," he begs. "The others won't see me, and I'm _so_ lonely."

"I thought you said you have _friends_," Arthur counters coldly. "Talk to _them_."

"Do you want to meet them? Oh, you really _must_." Oliver is eager again, something Arthur doesn't like one bit. It's even more disconcerting than the pleading, sorrowful look from before, when he was begging Arthur not to leave.

"I already said I wasn't interested. Leave me alone."

"Are you _sure_?" Oliver calls in a sing-song, mocking voice. "Your little daughter met them, you know. Such a quiet little thing she was."

Arthur freezes, and after a short pause, Oliver continues.

"She screams now, doesn't she? I'm afraid we were a bit too rough with her. Don't worry, though. I'll take better care of you." Oliver grins. "I don't suppose that will make you feel any better, though."

"You…" Arthur is furious. This… This… Monster…

"Didn't mean to, really. But she was so _young_! I couldn't help toying with her so. Does she still beg for us to stop? She does, you know she does. Your Guide gives you constant updates, even though you know her condition never changes. It breaks your little Mint Bunny's heart to give you more news of her staying the same, or getting worse. But you won't relieve her of this duty. Insisting that she watch over Alice. I _could_ put her out of her misery, I suppose..." Oliver pauses. Then, "It'd be easy enough. I have a guide, too, you see, and he's much more ferocious than yours."

Arthur is incredibly close to the snapping point. Only two things are preventing him from charging at Oliver, and they are; his utter shock and misery, and the fact that such an exercise would, more than likely, be futile. This… thing, or others like it, practically destroyed his daughter, and now threatened to do the same to his childhood companion and Spirit Guide (Not a typical package deal, usually only available for those with Sight, and many of his brothers had had one. Usually, only you can see your own Spirit Guide, but perceiving these is another of Arthur's gifts.) Flying Mint Bunny (He'd been but a wee bairn when he named the rabbit, so we must forgive him the simple, descriptive name.)

Oliver must realize this, because he laughs. "Don't worry." He says dismissively. "I won't touch a hair on her body if I don't have to. She's perfectly safe. Actually, I came here to ask you how it felt, being so close to someone who can answer all your questions. For example, why kill your daughter off so young? What's the point of you remaining in Headquarter's service for eternity? Is anything _really_ being done to help your daughter? Although, he can't answer your questions just yet."

Arthur ignores his taunting comments, for now. He can see himself getting caught up in trying to unravel that mystery all too easily, and he doesn't want to waste this opportunity. Apparently, Oliver is feeling talkative, and Arthur has other questions. Questions specifically for Oliver.

"What are you?" He asks again. "Why am I the only one who can see you?"

"I'm you," Oliver replies, as if this is all the explanation needed. Then, he adds, "The you that's not tethered to sanity. And you, and your darling little daughter, can see me because I let you, and you're different."

Arthur almost sighs. He _knows_ that he's different. Knows it too well. He needs specifics. "Different how?"

"Different in that it's possible for you to confront insanity, even your own, without succumbing to it," Oliver says. "Different in that you've maintained any supernatural powers you had in life after your death, and even gained a few. Different in that you have truly unlimited Sight."

It's not a very clear answer, or a very good one, but it's probably the best he'll get from Oliver tonight, so Arthur moves on to the next topic. "What, exactly, happened to Alice? Why did you torment her?"

"I _didn't_ mean to," Oliver whines. "But she's such a little thing, and I didn't realize that we'd gone too far. Besides, she was already vulnerable, frightened for her life, watching you fight alone. When you gave her that drought, to send her to sleep, to ease her fears… That was the first time I appeared to her. The first time Olivia talked with her. Alice couldn't wake up, and Olivia wanted to play… I was new to it, too… Didn't know how strong we are compared to you, how much damage we can do…"

Arthur interrupts. "Who's Olivia?"

Oliver grins madly, ecstatically, literally bouncing up and down on his toes. "Oh, you simply _must_ meet _her._ She's such a charming little thing. A little boisterous, perhaps. Not like _your_ daughter. But so sweet! And she makes the most delicious cookies. Olivia!" Oliver calls the last remark out into the distance.

"Yes, Daddy?" A voice like the tinkling of bells, as soft and sweet as sugar and cream, replies. There's something achingly familiar about that voice. Something Arthur realizes when a little girl appears.

She'd look just like Alice did, the last day he saw her alive, but the coloring is wrong, and her dress is different. Instead of Alice's golden-blond hair, hers is a brownish red, and her ponytails are held up by two decently sized bows instead of simple hairpieces, but it's in the same ponytails nonetheless, and it has the same slight curl… Her eyes are the same pink-ringed blue as Oliver's, and her dress, rather than being a sensible blue, is bright pink, and frilly. She has freckles, too, but Arthur supposes that those go with the red in her hair.

The resemblance is still enough to metaphorically, and nearly literally, knock Arthur off of his feet. Olivia, for her part, seems to enjoy this. She giggles, and waves. "Hello, Arthur!" She calls in her tinkling little voice. Then she runs to him, and grabs his hands. "Are you here to play with me? Alice played with me, and she was so _fun_ to tease!" She giggles again. Then, sounding regretful, she adds, "She didn't last very long, though. Such a pity."

Arthur is still in shock. Vaguely, he perceives that Olivia's hands are cold and clammy. Not like her voice, which is warm and inviting. And so like his dear Alice's had been.

But he remembers that Alice is gone, and this little girl is almost certainly a monster who took her from him. Still, he can't bring himself to push her away, so he says, "I'm sorry. I'm not going to play with you."

Listening to his own voice, he realizes that he'd sounded much gentler than he'd intended.

Olivia releases his hands with a sad smile. Then, suddenly, she beams, looking up at him with entirely innocent eyes. "Another time, perhaps?"

And she disappears.

"Would you like to meet some more of my friends?" Oliver murmurs from behind Arthur.

Arthur flinches. "I'd like it if you'd leave me alone."

"Sleep, then," Oliver says, touching Arthur on the forehead. Arthur finds himself sinking, slowly, to the ground, his entire being filled once more with exhaustion. Not natural exhaustion, and not so overwhelming that he will sleep for very long. But enough that he feels his eyes closing, and realizes that he is falling asleep.

Just before he completely loses consciousness, a single, coherent thought pops into his head.

The boy, Kiku. He hadn't had any Spirits with him.

**Characters introduced in this chapter are:**

**Romania-Vladimir Lupei-Head of the Hell branch of Headquarters. Not important as of yet.**

**2p!Nyotalia!England-Olivia Kirkland-Oliver's daughter.**

**Nyotalia!England-Alice Kirkland-Arthur's daughter. Driven insane. (Also, she should have been placed in my previous list, as introduced in Chapter One, but I just realized that she wasn't.)**

**Flying Mint Bunny-Flying Mint Bunny-Arthur's Spirit Guide. She helped him develop his powers when he was younger. Now watches over Alice, since Arthur isn't permitted to.**

**2p!Flying Mint Bunny-Flying Chocolate Bunny-Oliver's Spirit… Companion, I guess, because I can't really call him a Guide. Is Flying Chocolate Bunny because he has a chocolate coat, instead of a mint-colored one.**

**And that's all folks. Just kidding. Anyway, Thank-you's…**

**KassydaPJgeek14: Sorry you had to wait longer than I said you would. Hope you enjoyed!**

**BitterSweet Crazy: The trouble's only beginning. The surprises I have in store for them, Alfred especially… Anyway, hope you liked the chapter! Although, Alfred really got to dodge a bullet with Matthew alerting him of Ivan's presence.**

**pastaaddict: Naturally. And it would have been, if I'd thought of that, but what are the odds of Ivan and Alfred not realizing that they're three feet apart short of them being bedsheet ghosts? Kiku might have been able to pull it off with one of the two, though.**

**The more reviews I get, the more motivation I have to update.**

**~Serena**


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Ivan

**Hey, people! I'm Baaaaaaack! Yeah, sorry, I didn't drop off the face of the earth, just got caught up in Drama. No, not drama, as in friend/family/class drama, though there's been some of that, too. Drama. Capitol D. As in acting. I acted in my high school play, and so I've been a bit busy. But here you are, chapter eighteen. Can't believe I've actually written eighteen chapters. I'll **_**maybe**_** update once a week after this.**

**Also, unless specially inspired, chapter titles will be main POV used in that chapter from now on.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter Eighteen; Ivan

Ivan practically growls as he rips the ears off of his head. So close! He'd been _so close_. If he'd been able to cross the street before Alfred noticed him, the insufferable boy would have already paid for what he'd done.

But Alfred _had_ noticed him before the light had changed, and everything Ivan had done so far had come to nothing.

Katyusha is of the opinion that Ivan and Alfred just need to have a nice chat to resolve their differences. She seems to think that if they both explain themselves, everyone can probably get along, and so she is supportive, and tries to console him. "It's too soon to lose hope, Ivan. A confirmed sighting, even without an actual confrontation, is better than nothing. At least now you know he's in this section of the city."

"For now," Ivan says darkly. Now that they're in the city, Ivan is having trouble keeping his bearings. And it will be a simple thing for Alfred to hop on a subway and end up in another section of the city. If only he knew where Alfred's sister lived…

A rustling startles Ivan, and he scowls. It's probably some homeless person, sleeping in the alley. Or a rat.

Ivan _hates_ rats. Especially the large, brazen ones in the city. He'd had nightmares about the rat scene in 1984 the first time he'd read it, one reason that he'd later been glad that Dedushka hadn't read it to him when he was younger, though Animal Farm had frequented their fireside stories. Even back then, he hadn't liked rats. But at least at the farm, their barn cat, Koshechka, had kept the rats at bay. He still had one of her kotyata, Koshka. Here, an army of cats couldn't even begin to challenge the rats.

But Ivan is stalling, and not determining the source of the noise is more unsettling to him than the noise itself. So Ivan glances towards the approximate origin of the rustling quickly, and there, nestled behind a sloppy wall of wooden crates, is a boy.

The boy has short black hair, and medium eyelashes. His head is resting on a rather full black satchel, and nearby, set to the side so that it doesn't end up rumpled, is a blue-black hat. His other features are obscured by a dirty yellow-brown blanket that Ivan wouldn't have touched, but he can tell that the body curled beneath it is slender, but a bit soft. Not like the wiry thin frame that one would expect of a kid growing up on the streets. More like someone who didn't eat very often, but had plenty _to _eat. Like someone who simply forgot to eat at times, and got only mild amounts of exercise. The fact that the boy's hair is clean, not greasy, also alludes to the fact that sleeping in alleys is _not_ his usual situation.

There is something familiar about the boy sleeping peacefully in front of Ivan. He's almost tempted to reach down and remove the blanket to see if that sparks some recognition, but thinks twice about it. The boy's _familiar_, but Ivan doesn't really know him.

Instead, Ivan picks up the hat, examining it. Absentmindedly turning it this way and that, until he realizes.

This boy had been with Alfred when he'd spotted Ivan. He might know where Alfred is.

The quality of the hat, its obvious expense, escapes Ivan, and he does not think to question why someone with so fine a hat would be "sleeping rough."

Ivan reaches down, but before he can wake the boy to ask him about Alfred, his cellphone vibrates in his pocket.

He has a speech ready and waiting for his mother, or grandfather, to explain his reasons. He opens his mouth to launch directly into it, but before he opens his flip phone, he glances at the caller ID.

"Dr. Wang?" The fear in his voice is palpable, panicked, even to Ivan himself.

The answering voice, lilting and female, with a slight chinese accent, is one that Ivan has known for years, ever since the fire. He fears that it will deliver a sorrowful and final condemnation. Instead, it proclaims a godsend.

"He woke up. Briefly, but still."

"Did he say anything?" Ivan is excited now. This is more than he'd ever dared to hope for. Alfred, revenge, clearing his name… they can wait.

No, but I thought you'd like to know anyway. I know you're in town."

"Yes. Thank you."

Ivan turns and strides purposefully towards the hospital, renewed hope budding tentatively in the back of his mind, even as thoughts of Alfred fade.

In his excitement, he doesn't notice that the hat is still in his hands.

**So, you guys are going to absolutely hate me for what I'm going to do to Arthur, Alfred, Kiku, Francis, and others, but don't worry, **_**Ivan**_** get's a happy ending.**

**Nyo!China-Dr. Chun-Yan Wang-Dedushka's doctor.**

**Also, I started watching Doctor Who, because that's the only aspect of SuperWhoLock I haven't watched and caught up on, and I just watched Nine die… So, I cried. A lot. Anyway, thank-you's…**

**kassydaPJgeek14: And glad I am that you are!**

**pastaaddict: Well, both are significantly American, and I feel like a childhood just isn't complete without one or the other. And it's just a really fun line. Also, thank you. That was rather the point. Just you wait…**

**kittykitkat: Hope you're still alive after this brief hiatus. Don't worry, excepting my previously begun Fanfictions, and oddball hiatuses, I think I can be said to be a more frequent updater than most. It's the reviews. I'm a sucker for reviews.**

**BitterSweet Crazy: You'll find out soon enough.**

**Guest (Who I have a sneaking suspicion is none other than my sister.):**

**How do you think? Afterlife is responsible for the spiritual and mental health of Spirits. That includes creating tiny Uno cards for them to play with when they get board. They also have regular playing cards, and monopoly. And cable TV, on occasion.**

**~Outis**


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Arthur

**Hey, so I just wanted to say… This year, I'm grateful for all of my wonderful reviewers. Seriously, you guys have no idea what a stabilizing effect you have on my emotional health. All of your wonderful reviews really help my self-esteem, and having a project I am dedicated to has given me something concrete to hold on to, and my mere devotion to this fic has been a really positive influence on my life right now. Not such a positive influence for my grades, maybe, but I'm hanging on to a life saver there as well. (No, not the inflatable kind. The candy. Duh.)**

**But in all honesty, that is my (late) Thanksgiving thankfulness schpeel.**

**Also, just asking, but does anyone have any ideas for a better summary? 'Cause mine's kinda lame...**

Chapter Nineteen; Arthur

Arthur is having a nightmare. Most spirits don't actually dream, but nightmares are not, and never have been, uncommon for Arthur. As a matter of fact, nightmares are common in many spirits that have experienced great emotional trauma.

This isn't quite like his normal nightmares, though. But not as _real_ as his encounter with Oliver, either. More dream-_like_.

"Is _this_ who all the fuss is about? I don't see the big deal."

Arthur can't see who the speaker is, and maybe that's a good thing. His "eyes" are closed, and he's keeping them that way. But he tries to place the accent.

American, that's for sure… New York? Yes, New York. Bronx, maybe? Not quite. But he probably has a parent from the Bronx. Juvenile, too. Not more than ten years old.

Well, maybe as old as twelve. Arthur can't be certain.

"Well, he's here, is he not? And he is still unaware, peacefully oblivious to our corrosive aura's." Not quite true, actually. He's having a hard time not reacting to the combined power of the two's oppressive presences. Neither aura is as potent as that of Oliver and Olivia, though, and even though he doesn't have anger and conversation to distract him from their power, he manages it. "He is also capable of speaking to such as us while retaining his mind."

This voice is parisian, 18th arrondissement, like Francis. But Arthur can't help thinking that, while Francis is perfect for the artistic aspect of this arrondissement, it would be such as this speaker who are responsible for labeling the 18th arrondissement the "red light district."

"Not that you'd know. Not personally, I mean. You've never actually _talked_ to him, have you?"

The New Yorker again. Arthur can hear the boy's feet shift.

"No. But Oliver has. And Arthur has escaped… relatively unscathed."

So, these voices knew Oliver… What were they, some sort of manifestation of insanity? Actually… that might not be too far from the truth. They're unsettling, and he hasn't even opened his eyes yet. Especially the frenchman. It's disturbing to hear a french voice that is so… apathetic. It seems like the parisian has absolutely no zest for life. And maybe he doesn't… the scent of cheap cigarette smoke wafting over to Arthur certainly shows that this man places little value on it.

"I think Oliver's a selfish bastard. It's not like he's the only one who can talk to Arthur. Olivia did it earlier tonight."

There's a pause, as though the frenchman is shrugging. "Our other selves are a source of weakness for us."

It's a token statement, said for a token defense, and not necessarily true, or even believed to be true, and the boy responds with indignance. "But, _Francois,_" he whines, "Oliver _possessed_ your other self. That's _got_ to be worse than _talking._"

"Francis was not in any danger," the parisian states indifferently. Francis… Other selves… These voices must belong to creatures that are, at the very least, _similar _to Oliver. And the parisian, Francois, must be Francis's, making the boy... Alfred's. Which made sense, given the accent. The question is, though, whether the fact that these two have dark doubles mean that _everyone_ has them, or that they were created solely to torment Arthur?

Either way, Arthur does _not_ like this.

He also doesn't like how Francois continues his statement.

"Oliver has powers equal and opposite his counterpart. Greater, even."

The boy snorts. After a short pause, Francois adds, "Besides, I had given my permission."

"_After _Oliver drugged you with his stupid cupcakes."

"Oliver is simply… overzealous, that's all."

"Why are you so talkative today, Francois? And, for that matter, why are you always defending Oliver?"

Francois sighs like one who is tired of explaining a situation to one who can not-or will not-read subtle cues. "Alex, my counterpart, Francis, is attracted to that Spirit over there, who is lying there, unconscious and helpless, and yet I do nothing. What does that tell you?"

Arthur shudders deeply, and resists the urge to open his eyes and yell, or else to puke.

"That we aren't able to physically touch him?" The boy, Alex, says, puzzled.

"No, Al. Listen," the frenchman's voice goes uncharacteristically soft. "I know that you don't understand it yet, but Oliver, and his daughter, are people to be humoured. Mathieu and Gilen would tell you so, too, if they were here right now."

"Ha!" Alex is defiant, "They're not so scary. Olivia's just a brat, and Oliver's more childish than _she_ is. Even insists on calling me 'Timothy' just because I 'look like a Timothy'." It's more than clear from Alex's scornful tone that he is not fond of this name.

"Not so loud, Alex. You'll wake one of them."

"Too-late!" calls a familiar little bell-voice.

Arthur peeps his eyes open, and sees Olivia, her back turned to him, facing two , the older one would be Francois. He has blond hair, a little longer than Francis's, but not by much, and tied back, though the hair seems as though the most grooming it had ever gotten was a comb-through once a week, and being run through the man's fingers. His chin sports stubble, and he has a cheap cigarette in his mouth. His listless purple eyes show little-well, no-emotion, though Arthur can detect a hint of fear. He gives off an overall slovenly look, and wears a pair of jeans and a dark purple shirt so plain and dirty that Arthur would have cringed if he'd seen Francis wearing this man's outfit. Now that he's focusing, Arthur can smell the alcohol on this man's breath, too. Wine, the cheapest possible, by it's smell, and Arthur has drunk a _lot_ of bad alcohol over the years. He has the same reflexive similarities to Francis as Oliver has to Arthur. (Or at least, he _would_, if he'd taken a shower recently.)

The same is true of the boy (except no shower needed) but in regards to Alfred. His hair is a dark, brownish red, his skin tan, and his eyes comprised of various shades of maroon to burgundy. He's snarling, and one can just see that one of his top left molars is missing.

He's wearing a leather bomber jacket, much like Alfred's, but with a star the bright red of fresh blood. Dark sunglasses resting on his forehead accompany the almost biker-kid look. Once you get past the jacket, though, his outfit is rather unremarkable; a white shirt and denim jeans.

"So, Timmy. What are we talking about so loudly?" Olivia asks, cocking her head to the side, the very picture of innocence.

"None of your business, Dollface," Alex snarls, brandishing a nail-studded baseball bat. Arthur has to bite his tongue, almost literally. Not your daughter, he reminds himself. Not even human. "And it's not Tim, or Timmy, or…" The boy almost seems to gag. "Timothy. It's Al. Or Alex."

Olivia starts to turn away. "Fine, then. Daddy'll make you tell me."

Francis makes as if to stop her, but decides against it, letting his outstretched hand fall back to his side. "Don't get your father, Olivia, sweetheart, there's no need for that. I'll tell you."

"I don't want _you_ to tell me." She says contemptuously, pausing a moment. "I want _Timothy_ to." And she turns.

Arthur closes his eyes again quickly, focusing on appearing asleep, but through the crack of his eyelids, just before his eyes completely close, he sees her cerulean eyes widen.

"Daddy! Arthur's _here_!" It's hard to place her emotion. Excited? Overjoyed? A little scared, maybe?

"What did you say, Olivia?" Oliver's voice carries, but he's not right here just yet. Arthur hears Francois and Alex shift in their positions, and freeze.

"Arthur. He's here."

Arthur can _feel_ Oliver's eyes on him, and he is glad that he is very, very good at controlling his breathing. After a moment, Arthur can here Oliver move into a position between him and the other two, and Olivia moving to stand by his side.

"You are both incredibly lucky that he still appears to be asleep," Oliver says testily, and Arthur can just imagine the glare he is giving Alex and Francois, eyes flashing, especially the pink. "Because if you two idiots had brought him here, and he became conscious, I would not be so _forgiving."_

There's a scoff, which can only be Alex.

"Is that scepticism, Timothy? Do you really think that I wouldn't be more upset than this if you'd spoiled my game with Arthur? Perhaps you'd care to tell me what Arthur is doing here in the first place. And _don't_ lie." Oliver warns, almost growling. "You know I can't stand liars. I told both of you to leave him _alone_, and I _know_ that Francois isn't responsible for this. _He_ has the ability to learn from his mistakes."

"My name's _not_ Timothy, Bastard!" Alex spits. "It's Alex."

So the boy has a temper, and it gets the best of him. He also seems to be a glutton for punishment.

"That's some money in the swear jar, that is," Oliver mutters darkly. Then, he finishes in a more pleading tone. "Come now, Timothy. I'd prefer to be gentlemanly about this."

"Screw gentlemanly!"

"Why must you always do this to yourself?" Oliver sighs, shaking his head. (By now, Arthur is peeking again, but only through his eyelashes.) He'd been kneeling, to get to Timo-Alex's level, but he straightens up now. "Very well. I'll deal with this miscreant, Olivia. Send Arthur home, won't you? And renew the sleeping spell while you're at it, but only a fourth as strong as before. It's nearly morning, and we can't be sending him into coma's every few days. Someone'll realize that _something's_ up."

"Yes, Daddy." Olivia says, and Arthur closes his eyes again. He feels her small, cold fingers on his eyelids, and then he draws a blank, asleep once more.

**Thanks specifically for this chapter to:**

**pastaaddict: Yes, he did, but Ivan will be more than distracted. I told you, he's getting a happy ending! Dedushka back, he moves on from revenge, the whole package! I just felt that since I had to give him such a horrid backstory (Happy, but then suddenly your farm burns down, killing, or as good as killing, your father and his parents, so you have to leave to live with your more difficult mother's family, where you are miserable and bullied.) I ought to even it out by being nice. I'm not completely done writing him, though. He'll get a few more chapters, with Dedushka's first words to him, and them leaving the city. Essentially, establishing Ivan's peace.**

**BitterSweet Crazy: Yeah, it's pretty awful. You don't even know. But it's a couple chapters off, so you have time to prepare yourself. And yes, indeed, Ivan is getting a happy ending. Though, it will also bring back some painful memories for him, such as the exact night of the fire, and how he survived. So it may be a bit bittersweet yet.**

**~Outis**


	21. Chapter Twenty: Arthur and Francis

**Hey! I'm back! Happy really-late Holidays! I'll try to update more frequently in the future. **

**And does **_**ANYONE **_**have a better idea for a summary, 'cause **_**mine's**_** rubbish.**

Chapter Twenty; Arthur and Francis

~Earlier, On Halloween Night~

~Francis~

"What's your name?"

"Alfred."

"Well, Alfred, I do have to be going now. Actually," Kiku chuckles. "It's a funny thing, but you dragged me _closer_ to my… home." Not that he'll be going there. At least… Not tonight. By now, someone has undoubtedly noticed his absence, and he might as well prolong his freedom. There will be no running away a second time. He does hope that Alfred doesn't notice the slight pause before "home," though.

Kiku turns, and jogs out of the alley, but Francis isn't paying attention to him. Francis hasn't been paying attention to anyone but Arthur since Kiku asked Alfred's name.

Francis always keeps a watch on Arthur out of the corner of his eye, and mere moments after Alfred answered Kiku, Artur had frozen momentarily, emerald eyes widening in panic, dread, and shock, before whirling around to face something that Francis cannot see.

He's never been able to see Arthur's creatures. When Arthur had told him, nearly a year into their first assignment, that he can see things that others can't, Francis hadn't believed him at all. He'd thought it was a prank. Or else that his partner was cute, but crazy. But over the years, Francis has grown used to Arthur conversing with invisible creatures, and hundreds of years is a bit long for a prank.

"What are you?" Francis hears Arthur say, his voice colored by disgust and cool contempt. It reminds Francis of when Arthur was the Angel of King John, and watched the simpering coward sign away most of the Crown's power. Arthur had had the same disgust and contempt in his voice after the signing of the Magna Carta, when Arthur had informed the cowering king of his exact opinion of him, and promptly stopped talking to John. Even now, Arthur had yet to speak a word to him since then.

After a pause, during which Arthur appears to be listening, and Francis becomes more and more unsettled, Arthur says, "Not interested," very curtly. He then promptly moves as though to walk back to the group, where Alfred, Gil, and Matthew are preparing some sort of shelter. But something stops him, and pulls him back.

Another pause, and when Arthur speaks again, the ice in his voice is so cold that Francis shudders, and wonders what is making Arthur sound so bitter and broken. It makes him wish that he could protect Arthur somehow, or at least perceive his torturer, though Francis has never been much of a fighter. "I thought you said you have_ friends_. Talk to them."

Arthur's back is to him again, so Francis can't read his expression, but after a moment, he says, "I already told you I wasn't interested." Then he turns turns again, striding toward the group. "Leave me alone."

Arthur can't have taken more than three steps before he freezes. Francis can't read emotions the way that Arthur can, but the pain in Arthur's face is unmistakable. Anger is there, too, in the set of the jaw. The eyes show fear and shock and misery and rage. The rage increasing with every moment.

"You…" Arthur says furiously, whirling. His fists tightening so that the knuckles show white against his already pale skin.

Somehow, he seems to calm himself, or at least reign himself in. "What are you?" he asks again, this time sounding almost... defeated. "Why am I the only one who can see you?"

Francis can tell that, whatever the creature's answer is, it exasperates Arthur, because his head falls forward ever so slightly, and shakes by the tiniest fraction.

"Different how?"

Another frustrating answer is indicated, but Arthur moves on. "What, exactly, happened to Alice? Why did you torment her?"

Well, if this… encounter has something to do with Alice, then it certainly explains the turbulence of Arthur's emotions. All these centuries, and still Arthur has not forgiven himself. He blames Francis, and Headquarters, and whoever else, in part, but… In Arthur's mind, it is he himself who holds the most blame. During assignments, Arthur loses himself in the job when he can, and tries to forget the pain, to do his job, bury the past in honor and pride and responsibility, but…

In the end, Arthur can't run from the past, and he certainly can't run from himself. And the effort of trying exhausts him. He can't work tirelessly, and forever. He needs the vacations he's allotted. And when he is given a vacation, he visits Alice.

He's only allowed to see her once during the vacation, unless there's a change in her condition. A fact that Francis appreciates greatly. Bad enough that Arthur visits the once, sometimes at the beginning of the vacation, often towards the middle. He tries to resist seeing her for as long as possible. But he always relents in the end. Before he goes, he'll sober up for a week, look and act respectable. But after, he always drowns himself in spirits. And he does not hold his liquor very well. Other than that, he sleeps, mostly. Barricades the doors against operatives from Afterlife trying to do their job and look after his mental and spiritual help. Try to bear visits from his family stoically.

Francis would check on him, sometimes with Dylan, but often alone, mostly because when Arthur got drunk he wouldn't let any of his brothers into his room. And it would only get worse as the vacation wore on. Especially the fourth year. The fourth year was when Arthur started to get creative about trying to kill himself. Then he'd start sobering up halfway through the fifth year, only to start the vicious cycle over again with burying the past in work. Always the same basic pattern, no matter what anyone tried.

It destroys Francis as much as it is destroying Arthur. But still better than when Arthur was allowed unlimited access to Alice during vacations. When they tried that, he wouldn't drink, but he wouldn't sleep, either. Or do anything other than follow Alice around like a shadow, keeping up his appearance for the sake of his daughter who hardly notices, or sometimes even bursts into frightened tears at the sight of him. Bad enough that Arthur swallow even that one dose of guilt every vacation.

"Who's Olivia?"

Arthur's voice, cutting through the apparent silence, snaps Francis out of his state of contemplation. Looking up, he sees Arthur's eyes widen.

Briefly, they feature something akin to hope, but that is quickly drowned in disappointment. Misery still burns in those emerald lights, but there's no anger, or fear. Shock… Shock, yes, but of a softer variety.

Arthur's hands are out, as though someone had grabbed them, and his voice, when he finds it, is gentle. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to play with you."

A child, then. Of course. Even before Alice, Arthur has always had a soft spot for children.

His hands are released, but Arthur continues to stare sadly at the spot where the child must have been, until suddenly, he flinches.

In response to a question that Francis can not hear, Arthur whispers,"I'd like it if you'd leave me alone."

The words are barely out of his mouth before he collapses.

Francis is at his side in a moment, kneeling beside him.

There are no definite ways of determining whether or not a Spirit is still "alive," but Arthur, as a habit, breathes, and Francis is glad to see that slight movement in his slender chest.

"Arthur," Francis murmurs, "You've been keeping secrets, and that is no good for you." He picks Arthur up gently, feeling a slight pang that he was becoming accustomed to the angel's slight weight in his arms. "I don't want to bring up the painful past," Francis continues softly, "But when you wake up, we need to talk."

~Present~

~Arthur and Francis~

Arthur wakes sometime between six and seven, to all the sounds of people going to and from work. His eyes open not very slightly, and catch a glimpse of two soft blue ones directly in front of him.

Abruptly, his eyes close again.

"Arthur," Francis warns, "I know you're awake."

"What do you want, Francis?" Arthur mumbles, sitting up.

Francis touches his shoulder gently, his head less than a centimeters* from Arthur's own. "To talk," he says, cautiously, turning Arthur so that he has to meet his eyes. "You owe me some explanations. Who were you talking to last night?"

For a moment, Arthur freezes, and then he starts abruptly as realization dawns on him. "None of your business!" He snarls defensively, avoiding Francis's eyes.

"Arthur," Francis pleads, catching Arthur's gaze. "Please. Who were you talking to?"

"His name is Oliver," Arthur whispers before dropping his eyes and turning so that they were sitting side-by-side, and then Arthur turns his gaze to the sky. "And before you ask, I don't know much more than that about him. I couldn't have even told you _that_ before last night, but he's been more… talkative, lately. Which has me worried, of course, since the last time he was anywhere near this active…" Arthur hesitates. Then, he sighs, and continues. "The last time he was even remotely near this active, Alice was taken away from me."

"But _who_, or _what_, is he?"

"I told you, I don't know. Not really. But… he said he was me."

"How do you mean?"

"He said… that he was me. A me who is…" Arthur grimaces. "_Uninhibited_ by sanity. But…" Now, silent tears run down Arthur's face. "No one else has ever been able to see or hear him. _He _claims that anyone else would go mad, but sometimes, I can't help but think-wish, even-that _I'm_ the one who's mad. That _he_ only exists inside my head, and I'm the one in the mental hospital, instead of Alice."

"Oh, Arthur…" Francis murmurs into his ear as he hugs him. "Won't you ever forgive yourself for her fate? It wasn't your fault."

Arthur only shakes his head to the last part, as always, and says, "Probably not," as an answer to the first. Then he wipes his eyes, and gently removes Francis's arms. "Is Alfred awake yet?"

"No," Francis says, leaning back on his arms, "And Matthew and Gilbert are on lookout for Ivan."

"Oh, is _that _the russian boy's name?" Arthur asks as he also leans back, relaxing now that the conversation is in safer waters. "Why is he so hungry for revenge? Revenge for what?"

"Apparently," Francis says, not in the least surprised by Arthur's quick uptake. "Ivan was the source of Alfred's recent income."

"So Ivan is the rich neighbor, and despite what Alfred assumed, the missing money did _not_ go unnoticed?"

"Presumably."

They sit there for a bit, an uncomfortable silence building, until Arthur clears his throat, and tentatively speaks up.

"Um… it's a bit late, but…. I've always meant to say, but I never did get around to it… so…."

"_What_, petit lapin?"

"I'm sorry… about Joan."

Francis just shakes his head. It figures that Arthur would take responsibility for_ her_ fate, as well. He's almost tempted to mention that it's more than _a bit_ late, but he knows that Arthur will take it seriously. Instead, he says, "No apology needed. It was a political trial. There was nothing you could do."

"I could have vouched for her visions."

"It still wouldn't have made a difference."

Francis has made his peace with the fact that Joan d'Arc's execution couldn't have been prevented, given the circumstances. Not that he hadn't been extremely upset in the immediate aftermath. He'd said a lot of things then that he regrets now. Not the things he'd said to those kings, but the ones that he'd said to Arthur.

"It was an absolutely awful way to go."

"She recovered." Unlike Alice. Inspite of themselves, both Spirits find that unspoken thought flashing through their minds.

Silence falls again as they sit there, avoiding each other's eyes. It's a long time before Arthur speaks again.

"I was jealous, you know."

"You? The _Hand of Heaven_? _Jealous?_"

"Yes, _jealous. _You heard me."

"...Of what, pray tell?"

"Joan."

Francis turns to look at Arthur, head cocked to the side quizzically, encouraging Arthur to go on. "You have proper descendants. I've my immediate family, and _their_ descendents, and then my stepson, and his. But none of my own. I died before my only child was even born."

Briefly, Francis can't think of anything to say. He's glad that Arthur will talk with him like this, but every time they have one of these moments, he is reminded of how brittle Arthur really is. And how careful he has to be, not putting too much pressure on the really delicate places, even with good intentions. So instead, he tries to steer the conversation towards safer waters of teasing.

"Isn't it practically impossible for Angels to get jealous, though? Especially you. You're supposed to be a _paragon_ of virtue or whatever, aren't you?"

"Paragon? Isn't that word a little big for you?" Arthur says, playing along. Truth be told, at times like this, he welcomes an excuse to fight with Francis, instead of talking.

"Shut up."

This time the silence is more comfortable, and Francis is content to let it fill the air, relaxing back to lay down with his head resting on his arms. Arthur relaxes too, letting his head roll back, and closing his eyes.

"Honestly, though, I'd wondered about that. I mean, an Angel can't 'fall' because of anything their charges do, but they can, and do, because of their own actions and convictions. Back then, I wasn't secure in the fact that Headquarters like me as an Angel. I thought for sure that, since I was jealous of you, and I didn't do everything I possibly could for Joan, I'd 'Fall.' And then I didn't."

"I think that you have stricter morals than Headquarters does, or has had since the Middle Ages and the Inquisition. Besides," Francis chuckled. To think that Arthur had worried about Falling after _Joan_, who became a _Saint_, when later… "You didn't Fall after Hornigold so I doubt you ever will. Not without going so dark that Headquarters won't even let you out on the field, at least."

"Well, _yes_," Arthur concedes, cracking a smile, "I was a bit worse with Hornigold. But that was _after_ that. And besides, I still maintain that the... enthusiasm I had for piracy was harmless. And Benjamin was really more of a... Privateer. In spirit, at least. He wouldn't attack a_ British_ ship."

"And I suppose raiding all of those other ships was strictly necessary."

"Well... Yes, to a certain degree. It _was_ a way of earning a living."

"Not all of them.

"Now, that is…"

"Hats!"

"..."

Arthur contemplates, for a moment, how best to defend that particular raid. Finally, he concludes, "That hardly counts against me. There wasn't much harm, and it was just a bit of fun…"

"Precisely!" Francis interrupts. "That's it. 'A bit of fun.' You had _fun_ as a pirate. And you were worried about_ jealousy_."

If Arthur were a cat, or, indeed, a rabbit, one would see his fur bristling with irritation and denial. (As it is, his hair is sticking up a bit, and his shoulders are hunched. And the extra fluff in his wings could be considered a bristle, if one squints.) "That," he insists, "Is besides the point, even _if_ it were true. And if I enjoyed being pirate so much, why would I encourage him to accept the pardon from the king…"

"Because you're dutiful first, and thrill-seeking second. _And_ because you still consider yourself honor-bound to England." Francis answers dutifully, fully aware that Arthur wasn't done talking.

"And later encourage Ben to take up pirate-_hunting._" Arthur finishes, pretending that Francis hadn't spoken.

Francis is _really_ glad that Arthur brought up the pirate-hunting. He'd been hoping for that. "And as for that last one, well… It wasn't the _piracy_ you loved, mon petit lapin. It was the _excitement_. It was the same with Benjamin. Moral go-ahead, _and_ fighting on the high seas? Pirate-hunting was a dream come true for both of you."

Arthur hardly knows what to say. Most of the time, Francis is frustrating, irritating, lecherous… And just generally difficult to deal with. But on occasion, he shows rare moments when he can be really insightful, and…

"Of course, the fact that it _did_ have something to do with piracy helped. You claim to love the sea, but you hardly ever encourage respectable sailors, like the Navy. You really have a _thing_ for piracy."

And he always ruins it very shortly.

"I do not."

"Oh?" Francis says, "Then I suppose that encouraging Elizabeth to promote the use of privateers against the Spanish Armada had nothing whatsoever to do with the love of piracy you found when you were Benjamin's Spirit?"

"And now I _know_ your mind is going. That was long before Ben's time."

"Not so very long."

"No, not really," Arthur agrees. With an existence such as theirs, concepts like time become a little bit less clear, though no less cruel. Now, one might wonder how an active existence would be any different from a retired one. The answer is, of course, this; for those who are retired, time means less. Although, eventually, retired Spirits will become sort-of… vegetative. And, eventually, start to look a bit see-through around the edges. Like Arthur's great-great-grandmother on his father's side, who "moved on" seven years ago. This state is a relatively recent occurrence, just a few centuries old, and research is ongoing. Some theorists even go so far as to speculate that this is what occurred to the spirits of early human species, assuming that evolution is a thing, which is put into question by the lack of any extremely prehistoric human Spirits. Regardless, we were discussing the active existences of Arthur and Francis. The point being that, in such an existence, looking at them objectively, a few centuries are, well… practically nothing, really.

"Still, I _am_ the one that hears voices. I'd just always figured that _my_ mind would go before yours did." He'd counted on it, really. After all, all signs pointed-point-to an eventual snap.

"Hey!" Francis objects. "It's too soon to go _that_ far, old man."

"You're older than I am, you know."

Francis pauses for the smallest of moments. He doesn't think about it often, but he actually _is_ a bit older than Arthur. They both died within a week of each other (a week or less being the standard amount of time it takes for one to be given an assignment after death, and be assigned a pair of Spirits after birth,) Francis had been in his late twenties, and Arthur, his early twenties. But years sit more heavily on Arthur, who takes even this joke of a life so seriously. He seems so much older than Francis, who isn't anywhere _close_ to uptight. In many ways, this included, Francis is more ideally suited to a long, active existence than Arthur is. It's a sobering train of thought, whenever it comes up. Still, Francis continues with the rapport.

"By what? Five years?"

"I'm not sure," Arthur answers, honestly. "How old are you again, exactly?" He asks, knowing not to expect an answer. Even _if_ either of them were inclined to admit their true age, they honestly didn't know. During their lives, modern dating wasn't in wide use. But to give you an idea of the time period, Arthur's cousin's granddaughter married Ealhmund of Kent, and gave birth to King Egbert (Ecgberht,) who is considered by many to be the first real "King of England." This is also part of the reason for Arthur's particularly intense loyalty to the Crown.

"Stop changing the subject," Francis says, only as a way to demonstrate that, no, they would _not_ be digging into that particular sort of speculation at this time.

"You're the one changing the subject, but fine," Arthur mumbles. Then, louder, he says, "Yes, it _was_ unrelated. Even ignoring the fact that that particular sequence of events occurred before Benjamin Hornigold was even _born_, to suggest that I encouraged Elizabeth to procure the aid of privateers against the Spanish because of some… fascination with the idea of piracy is absolutely ludicrous. The point being that the use of privateers was a strategic necessity, and nothing more.

"Whatever," Francis says, flashing his brilliant teeth and leaning in close. "Just admit it, Arthur," he whispers into Arthur's ear, "You've a _thing_ for piracy. Not that I mind."

"So what if I do?" Arthur says quietly, turning his head to stare defiantly into Francis's eyes, now only a few millimeters* away.

Then, like a songbird heralding the apocalypse, the ten-year-old boy who had been quietly listening for quite a while decides that now, of all times, is when he ought to speak up.

"I don't know if you guys are enemies or lovers or whatever, but if things are going to get really mushy or kissy, I need to be warned or something."

The two Spirits visibly jumping, ending up about a centimeter* apart. Arthur not looking at either of the other two, and very distinctly flustered. Francis, on the other hand, isn't flustered, but annoyed. It would appear that Alfred has the ability to read moods just enough to manage to find the precise statement needed to thoroughly kill it, and then, unthinking, say it.

A frustrating quality in a child.

And, equally frustrating, all too common in them.

But back to the flustered Arthur.

"Alfred!" Arthur says, blushing as though he and Francis had been doing something much more embarrassing than talking (and almost kissing.) But that's largely because of his old-fashioned and straight-laced views, and some of the thoughts he ended up thinking right at the end of the conversation. They hadn't even properly cuddled. Which would have been adorable, but Francis had wanted to _talk_ to Arthur once the Angel woke up, and _not_ get yelled at and hit because Arthur woke up to being cuddled by, or, god forbid, _cuddling_, Francis. Or any cuddling at all, really. "How long have you been awake?"

"Only since when you were talking about Hornigold. Wasn't he, like, Blackbeard's mentor or something? Who's Elizabeth? Wow, you get to meet exciting people, huh?" He spoke quickly, not pausing to think. Actually, speaking quickly so that he _wouldn't_ think. Partially because he's really not fond of having his mind read, partially to disguise the fact that he'd been awake a bit longer than he wanted to admit. He's not completely incompetent at reading people, and knows that what Arthur had said about being sorry for Joan's death was extremely personal, something he could respect. He'd only interrupted them because it had been extremely likely that they were about to kiss, and he wasn't very comfortable with hearing or seeing that.

"You're lying. And you were eavesdropping. Both are very bad habits, and I'd prefer it if you would attempt to minimize indulging them." Arthur scolds, ever the dutiful Angel.

"Mind-reading's just as bad, if not worse," Alfred retorts, "Anyway, who's Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth I of England, obviously. Daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, known as Good Queen Bess. Current Angel of Elizabeth II." (Headquarters enjoys assigning Spirits to those related to them, at times, and Bess volunteered.) Arthur sighs, knowing that the boy wasn't all that interested, he just wanted to keep the subject off of his eavesdropping. "Though of course you don't know much about that," he mumbles, "Americans…"

"And Hornigold, what about him? Was he really Blackbeards mentor?"

Alfred has a little more genuine interest in this. The innocent interest of a little boy regarding the macabre.

Francis answers before Arthur has a chance to. "Yes, and once they saw Arthur with Hornigold, Headquarters thanked their lucky stars that they hadn't put Arthur in charge of Blackbeard himself."

"I wasn't _that_ bad." Arthur protests, but more on principle than anything.

"You could have been," Francis teases, a smirking smile making it's way back onto his face.

Arthur opens his mouth to protest again, but Alfred speaks first, cutting them off before the situation can escalate again.

"Would you both just stop flirting and tell me where Mattie and Gil are. I haven't seen them since I went to sleep."

Artur is slightly stunned by Alfred's innocent and sincere accusation of "flirting," but Francis answers without so much as blinking an eye.

"If you will recall, they are on lookout for Ivan," he reminds Alfred gently.

"Iva…" It takes Alfred a moment to remember. He may have been aware enough to listen in on Arthur and Francis since before they'd been talking about Joan, but he'd still been half-asleep for most of their conversation. "Oh, yeah," he says when he does remember, "Shit! I guess he _did_ realize I took that money. And now he knows that I'm here."

"At this point," Arthur says, having recovered, "I think it would be prudent for you to give as much of the money back as possible, apologize sincerely, and go home."

"An cut my adventure short?!" Alfred is indignant. "No way!" He still intends to go home eventually, of course, but he doesn't see any need to be hasty. Even with his hiest not having turned out as smoothly as he'd hoped.

"Then how do you expect to deal with Ivan?" Arthur is sincerely concerned for Alfred, the Ivan's intense drive towards some sort of revenge, and Alfred's obvious nerves leading him to conclude that the Russian could be a real threat. "You really _are_ afraid of him."

"Nonsense, a hero's never afraid." Alfred says, even though, of course, he _is_. Ivan is older, taller, and more intimidating than him. "Besides, he can't stay here long. The school will notice that he's gone."

"The school will notice that _you_ are gone, too, you know." Arthur reminds him. "And you've probably been out longer than he has."

"Nah," Alfred says, grinning proudly. "They won't. I photocopied Mom's signature a while ago, so that I'd have it if I needed it. Got it off a field trip permission slip. I sent in a typed note with her signature copied and pasted onto it telling the school that I got chicken pox."

But surely they'll call your mother to check." Arthur points out. "Or your Mom will call the school when she realizes that you're missing."

Alfred almost gives in, reminded, suddenly, that he really does miss his mom, and that despite having all her time consumed by running his dad's business, she really did love him, and would worry about him, like she had that one time when he'd fallen asleep at the park because he refused to go home to take a nap, and Amelia and her couldn't find him, since he had crawled under the equipment for shade. He'd never admit that he was having second thoughts, though.

"Yeah, maybe," he says instead. "But not for a while. I figure I've got at least a week, and I'm not about to waste it."

Arthur wishes he could show his sympathy to Alfred, but, at this point, recognizes that the American would not welcome any sympathy for knowledge discovered using "mind-reading." Instead, he acknowledges that he cannot do anything to stop Alfred, saying, simply, "On your own head be it."

Alfred nods, accepting the acknowledgement.

"Oh, and Alfred?" Arthur says, figuring he may as well ask the boy, at this point, "Do you know where the other boy you met last night went off to?"

"Kiku?" Alfred asks. "No, but he said that he lives nearby. Why do you want to find him?"

Francis looks at Arthur, an echo of Alfred's question in his eyes. Keeping eye contact with Francis, Arthur answers them both.

"I'll tell you if we find him."

***For the sake of simplicity, all measurements will be referring to measurements from the viewpoint of a human. For a general idea of what this means, where I write "millimeters" for two Spirits, I might write "inches" or "centimeters" if they were both human. In other words, a human millimeter is somewhere between a Spirit inch or centimeter, but doesn't translate exactly.**

**And there you have it! Chapter Twenty! Do hope it was worth the wait.**

**Overdue Thank-You's:**

**pastaaddict: No, it's not. Sometimes it is, but whenever Oliver decides to poke his manipulative little fingers into Arthur's dreams, it's not. And I'm not done with the 2p's quite yet, so more are on their way!**

**BitterSweet Addict: Exactly! Couldn't have put it better myself!**

**Guest: Thank you very much for taking the time to offer that small praise.**

**Everyone: Thank you all very much for sticking with me this long, and for your wonderful praise and patience.**

**Guest-who-is-**_**so**_**-my-sister: Use Kandom as your name next time, why don't you, just so I don't have to play is-she-or-isn't-she. And you'll be lucky if I have a Christmas chapter **_**next**_** year, at the rate of my procrastination.**

**~oooOutisooo~**

**P.S. You all may have noticed that I have a new fic up, "From Birth to Death." Rest assured, this doesn't mean that I'll be splitting my time between the this and that. I just typed it while I was procrastinating about this chapter, and I think that it stands on it's own as a one-shot, for now. So I thought, "Might as well."**


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